


Aristeia

by thewriterofperfectdisasters



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blood and Gore, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, M/M, Mythology References, Nikandros the long suffering our thoughts are with you, Politics, can you tell i'm a classics major by the bullshit i'm pulling in this fic, courting, gratuitous use of stables as a plot device, or like at least, sneaky sneaky damen, the regent is still a dick!, unnecessary bath scenes, very rude sanglier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-26 20:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 71,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterofperfectdisasters/pseuds/thewriterofperfectdisasters
Summary: When Vere begins to grow unstable, and relations with Akielos decline, Damen is sent to Delpha to keep the peace – all he thinks he’ll be missing are the summer festivals of Ios. Things take a turn when two days’ ride from Marlas, he and his friend, Nikandros, are separated, and Damen ends up prisoner of a crumbling castle in unknown, unchartered territory.Damen meets the aloof, golden-haired lord, never without silken gloves, and finds himself thrust into the middle of an aging conspiracy at the very heart of Veretian politics. When Damen discovers the truth about Laurent, he does all he can to right the wrongs that have been done, and restore the true heir to the Veretian throne.Damen might be just one man, but he might be the only man who can stop the impending war that could destroy Akielos as he knows it – and save Laurent from himself along the way.





	1. Philophrosyne

**Author's Note:**

> so here we are! in between writing very self-indulgent fic (none of which... has actually been published yet?) i somehow managed to get _this_ baby done for the captive prince big bang 2k18! huge shout outs to the [bang mods](http://capri-bigbang2k18.tumblr.com/) for organising this thing and keeping us in line (mostly), my slack buddies (esp em and eo) for cheering me on through their confusion, and the cp discord server for the less confused cheering and also answering my really dumbass questions (thank u kodie i owe u my Life).
> 
> _biggest_ shout out to my beta and artist [@berin](http://berinbaka.tumblr.com) for putting up with me and doing some amazing art at the same time?? truly cannot thank you enough. you can find the art [here](http://berinbaka.tumblr.com/post/180332944306/heres-the-first-of-two-art-pieces-i-made-for) and [here](http://berinbaka.tumblr.com/post/180444457936/he-pulled-back-quickly-only-just-caching-the)!
> 
> also, shameless self-promotion: i'm [here](http://damiaanos.tumblr.com) on tumblr, in case u want to stay in the loop for the next four parts of posting! :))

With a nasty smile, the father of men and gods

told famous Hephaestus to hurry, to knead the water and clay,

to add human speech and strength, to give it a goddess’s form

and the lovely face of a maiden. Next he ordered Athena

to teach her womanly skill, to weave on a well-built loom.

Aphrodite the golden he told to crown her head with desire,

but with heartbreak as well, and all the aching sorrow of love.

Last of all, he had Hermes the herald, the killer of Argus,

to give her thievish morals, and to add the soul of a bitch.

Thus he decreed. The immortals obeyed Lord Zeus, son of Cronus.

The famous lame craftsman moulded a lump of clay to an image,

the form of a modest girl, as the son of Cronus designed it;

the gray-eyed goddess Athena saw to her clothing and hair.

The Graces and Lady Persuasion decked her with golden jewelry,

to accent the bloom of her flesh, and the fair-haired seasons together

crowned her with the flowers of spring.

Then the killer of Argus, the guide, the herald of gods,

filled her with lies and swindles, all sorts of thievish behaviour,

and named the woman Pandora.

– _Works and Days_ , Hesiod.

 

***

When he was born, so small and fragile, with the barest gracing of golden hair upon his head, Laurent’s parents thought he was perfect. He never fussed, and his bright blue eyes watched the world with fascination, the occasional smile lighting up his tiny face; never more so than when his older brother, Auguste, rolled on the floor with him, or read him books as he grew.

Laurent went from a small, inquisitive baby, to a slightly larger, equally as interested toddler, to a child, his mind developing with wit and filling with knowledge, ever brought to him by his brother. He became more cautious as he grew, more guarded with his thoughts and emotions, as he learned the value of such things.

His parents, he knew, watched him with a different kind of interest than his brother, and as he reached the cusp between child and teenager, he asked them why.

_A gift,_ they told him. _Every royal child of Vere is blessed by the Gods with a gift, determined and foretold by the wise men who live in the border mountains with Vask._

_What is my gift?_ Laurent asked. _What was yours? Auguste’s?_

_Auguste,_ his mother said, _was gifted with his strength. The strength needed to rule and overcome. I was gifted patience, your father gifted wisdom._

Laurent nodded, because that made sense to his young mind. His father always knew the right thing to do, and his mother never tired of a task. Auguste, Laurent had seen, was fast and powerful when he practised his swordcraft. _What is mine?_ he asked eagerly. _What gift was I given?_

Hennike smiled gently, brushing his hair aside from his eyes. _When you were born, the wise men came to the palace. They told us you had a very special gift._

_What is it?_ Laurent asked, becoming a little impatient.

_They told us that anything you touched would turn to gold,_ Hennike said.

_What does that mean?_ Laurent frowned, looking down to his hands.

_I don’t know,_ Hennike said, taking his small hands gently in her own, _but one day it will make sense._

And one day, it did.

***

Damen hated to go so far north at the beginning of summer. He would miss all the season’s festivals and gatherings, all the rolling in silk sheets with partners from far and wide that would come to Ios for the summer night markets it seemed to be so famous for.

He especially liked the markets, where he would get to go into the city, beyond the walls of the palace, and become another unrecognisable face in the crowds. It was always just himself and Nikandros, buying candied fruits and trinkets from the travelling booths, some that came from as far away as Arles in the north of Vere. They would always wander through, chitons short and pinned simply, no ostentatious ornamentation that declared him the Crown Prince of Akielos, or that showed Nikandros’ position as a kyros.

This year, instead of Nikandros coming to Damen’s home for the summer, Damen was going to Delpha. The air would still be warm, filled with the lingering scent of wildflowers and the wisteria covering the arches of the gardens. They would still, inevitably, eat their fill of candied fruits, still wear their chitons short, but they would be marked as royalty. When they sat for dinner, Damen would be at the table’s head, perhaps even adorned in the golden laurel crown of his status, should Delpha be hosting guests. It seemed likely, given the reason for Damen’s travelling.

Vere, once an enemy of Akielos, was becoming more and more unsettled, as the king made moves within his army. Given the turbulent history of Delpha’s ruling, Damen had been sent to keep the peace and provide support for Nikandros, should there be any suggestion of outright war between Vere and Akielos. Damen was being moved to the frontline, where his diplomacy could be made use of, and his position would hold more power.

Damen’s brother, Kastor, had slapped him heartily on the back in farewell, a wide grin on his face as he promised to send him letters detailing his sexual conquests. It most certainly wasn’t a competition, but Kastor liked to think it was, even if this train of thought had only been brought around after rumours of Damen’s own prowess began to surface.

It had been decided early on that the extra soldiers and supplies would head to Delpha before Damen and Nikandros. The king, Theomedes, had decided to host a farewell dinner for his son on the first night of summer, and allowed them to leave early enough to still make the night markets. Damen was thankful for that – the first night was always the best, and it would surely lessen the sting of missing the rest.

The next morning, however, he and Nikandros woke early, the sun barely touching the horizon, and the sea still dark and cold where Damen could see it from the outer passageways of the palace. Their horses were ready and waiting, the barest essentials packed into their saddlebags, as well as food and water. They would wear armour, even in the heat of early summer, because travelling as just the two of them was… well. Even if they weren’t themselves, it would probably still pose a risk. The unrest within Vere had trickled down the two countries, and people were beginning to become afraid of that it might mean.

There was no grand farewell for them, just the raised hand of Theomedes as they left, from where he was standing on the main gates to the palace, no doubt waiting for the moment they were out of sight so he could head back to bed.

Damen didn’t have that issue. He’d slept last night – barely, but he’d slept – and it was enough. The adrenaline that came with the excitement of a journey would keep him going until they reached their first inn of many along the way to Delpha. They didn’t want to wear out the horses, so their speed slowed as the sun rose, and the sweat began to drip down their necks. Damen considered taking off his armour, but that would likely make little difference as they rode.

However, when they stopped around midday for lunch, finding a small stream and some trees to rest under, Damen and Nikandros stripped off both their armour and sandals. They waded into the stream, with the water to the edge of their chitons, and splashed at each other like they were children again, not grown – albeit young – men heading towards their diplomatic duty to avoid war.

‘Do you think he’ll do it?’ Nikandros asked, crunching into an apple as Damen plopped down into the grass next to him.

‘Do what?’

‘The King of Vere. Do you think he’ll actually start a war?’

Damen shrugged. ‘I haven’t met him. I think he’d be stupid to, but Veretians, you know? They’re…’

‘Shifty?’ Nikandros offered. ‘Like to plot things and start wars?’

‘You tell me, you’re the kyros of Delpha.’

‘True. They’ve been launching more attacks on the border villages. People have come through and they’ve heard things. But you know that, that’s why you’re coming with me.’

‘At least the army is in Arles, or the bulk of it is. We would have enough time and ability to gather men from the other kyroi, should Vere decide to group men from all the forts and try to storm at Marlas,’ Damen frowned. ‘Vere _had_ to become more unsettled in them summer, didn’t it?’

‘Yes, Damen,’ Nikandros said, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Vere’s instability is growing _just_ to inconvenience you.’

‘I thought so,’ Damen nodded sagely. ‘A grand conspiracy.’

Nikandros huffed and offered the core of his apple to his horse. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time that Vere has conspired against a prince, would it?’

Damen raised his eyebrows and popped a grape into his mouth. ‘I thought that was only a rumour.’

‘A rumour is one prince, a fact is two,’ Nikandros said, nabbing a grape. ‘After the old king and his wife died, their sons had their days numbered. No one talks about it because a man willing to kill his nephews in order to get the throne will kill anyone else who suggests that’s what he did.’

‘They could be alive.’

‘They disappeared, and so did most of the prince’s guard. My guess is it got messy and the witnesses went along with him.’

‘That’s dark.’

‘That’s politics,’ Nikandros grabbed his sandals and began to lace them back up. ‘Hurry up, we need to get back on the road before nightfall.’

‘Or what?’ Damen asked, standing and doing the same as Nikandros.

‘I’m sure you can work that out for yourself, Damen. It’s best not to take the risk.’

‘You sound like my father.’

‘Why, because we’re both so much wiser than you? So much more handsome?’

‘Don’t take that tone with me, I am your prince,’ Damen snapped, glaring at Nikandros beside him over the saddle of his horse.

It lasted all of five seconds before they burst into laughter.

***

They made it safely to an inn, just as the sky was getting dark, and stars were beginning to appear overhead. Damen and Nikandros had long since removed any items that denoted their status, changing anything necessary out for generic versions from their bags.

The horses they took to the inn’s stable, before paying for rooms and sitting in the main area for dinner. The smell of meats and fresh bread wafted in from the neighbouring kitchen, adding to the comforting vibe of the candles glowing softly where they were littered across the tables and from the sconces lining the walls.

The innkeeper had arranged for platters to be brought to them, along with their requested water, before they retired up to their rooms for the night. The food was good – simple, but delicious and richly flavoured. The spices on the meat were warm and similar to what was served in the capital, still being close enough for it to influence the food here. The bread was sprinkled with seeds and made for a clean pairing with the heaviness of the meat, leaving Damen and Nikandros both with pleasantly sated appetites.

Damen had been tempted to request the two best rooms of the inn when they arrived, but Nikandros had told him earlier not to bother. They were both soldiers, and a bed was a bed. They would be fine to sleep anywhere for the duration of their trip north.

The room was simple. Tidy, clean, and with a small alcove to the side for bathing, which Damen made use of to clean himself of the day’s sweat and dust from the road. The bed was comfortable, if not as nice as his own in Ios, and he fell asleep within minutes.

The next morning saw Damen and Nikandros eat a quick breakfast, before leaving as the sun rose. They were making good time to be in Delpha within the next two weeks, and that may have been in part due to their liking of racing each other. They stopped again for lunch, rode to the next inn, eat, sleep, repeat.

After ten days of this routine, Damen and Nik were closer to Marlas than expected, and as such, the possibility of raiders and attacks was increasing. They had stopped riding without armour, and had started arming themselves more – extra knives attached to the belts of their chitons, and any signs of their status well and truly hidden in their saddlebags.

They were making a conscious effort to stop at inns for the night, instead of spending the night in the open, like they had a couple of times since leaving Ios. The security of lockable doors and not having to trade shifts of keeping watch was best for them both.

They were maybe two days’ ride from Marlas when it happened. About ten minutes earlier, Damen had stopped Nikandros, suggesting they pause under a group of trees for lunch. Their horses were grazing a few feet away, and everything was peaceful, which was why they heard the horses approach.

They seemed to come from nowhere, a group of riders that Damen would be unable to put a number to, but Nikandros would later tell him was about twelve, including their apparent leader. They didn’t even seem to want anything, just to terrorise travellers and get away with stealing whatever they could grab quickly or without much effort. Maybe, then, they were just cocky about their skills.

Whatever the case, they didn’t seem to be expecting Nikandros or Damen to fight back once they realised they were being set upon by a group that outnumbered them. It was hardly a fair fight, seeing as these men clearly weren’t used to people fighting back – their raggedy armour may have been worn in, but not by them.

It wasn’t all twelve of the men, not at first, only about four, sent to do the dirty work to try and rough them up a little, scare them from their belongings. Damen was initially more annoyed that he had to drop his food, and subsequently trampled it as he and Nikandros dragged the men and their dull blades off their horses.

The men looked fearful as they landed on the ground, recognising the armour Nikandros and Damen wore as that of commanders, not everyday soldiers. The man that had managed to comprehend what this would mean faster than his friends lifted his fingers to his mouth and blew sharply, signalling to the others in their crew.

Damen should’ve known better than to look up at who they were whistling to, but he did, and that created an opening for one of the men to launch himself up at Damen. As he fell back, he hit his head on something, and grabbed at his temple as he righted himself. Damen didn’t see, but he did hear the fall of a body less than a moment after Nikandros unsheathed his sword.

Damen and Nikandros hadn’t realised there were more than four, and quickly mounted their horses to leave, as they saw the group approach from over the crest of the hills behind them. They were good fighters – arguably some of the best, because the only stories about Damen that spread more than those of his sexual prowess were those of his fighting skill – but that was another eight men on horses coming towards them. It seemed their only option was to outrun them.

Or to split up.

Damen and Nikandros looked to each other as they had the same thought. ‘Next inn?’ Damen asked, as loud as he dared.

Nikandros nodded. ‘See you tonight,’ he said, as he peeled off and headed to the left, while Damen continued straight.

As they thought, the men split, half following each of them. The further they rode apart, the more Damen’s vision was getting black at the edges, and the less he realised that he was no longer being followed.

It seemed like that fact gave Damen permission to black out, because as the adrenaline of the chase faded, so did his consciousness.

***

When Damen woke up, he had no idea where he was. He didn’t even know what day it was, but it was dark, and he assumed that it was only a few hours later. His horse had slowed to a walk but had evidently continued moving after Damen blacked out. That was a little embarrassing – he never did that.

Damen could see no lights from any nearby towns or farmsteads, so he decided the best course of action would be to stop. He could hear somewhere close the sounds of rushing water, so maybe his horse had decided to find itself a drink at some point, and just kept walking along it.

He pulled over near the bank, using the light from the moon overhead to navigate the low hanging branches of trees. Two twigs he broke off, setting about making a fire, and soon had a small one going, to which he added leaves and small pieces of wood. With this new source of light, Damen investigated his packs, making sure everything was still there, including his pin.

As Damen sat to eat a chunk of bread from his bag, he realised his head hurt, and had been since he woke. He touched his temple and felt the dry blood under his fingertips. He swore, but saw no point in cleaning it for now. His horse seemed content to drink the water here, but he had seen this horse drink from muddy puddles before, so he decided to wait until morning to deal with it – just like the rest of his new problems.

Damen didn’t sleep during the night, just tended his fire and ate bits and pieces from his pack, purely for something to do.

Maybe it was further into the night when Damen woke up than he had initially thought, because it seemed like barely any time passed before dawn began to light the sky.

His first act was to stomp out his fire. Better to have the smoke drift into skies not quite awake than to have it stream into the brightness of day where anyone could see it. Next, he investigated the stream, finding it quite clear, and used it to clean the blood off his face where he could feel it. The chiton he wore was sacrificed to dry it off him, but then again, the chiton itself had a new red streak on it, so it would likely only be for rags now anyway.

Damen changed into a clean chiton from his bags, fixed his armour back on over top, after cleaning the blood from that also, and led his horse away from the stream.

None of this, however, helped him figure out where he was. From the position of the sun, he figured his horse had continued straight on the path he and Nikandros had split at, so he had more or less headed for the mountains bordering Vask. He was probably an extra two days away from Marlas, now, and undoubtedly, Nikandros would send out a search party if he didn’t arrive within two days after himself.

As Damen and his horse set off about correcting – or finding – a course, far on the horizon, Damen saw something.

It was only like a haze at the very boundaries of his vision, but it was something. Maybe he was further away than he thought. He had passed no border villages, no troops, no nothing, but the building he could see getting clearer as he rode towards it looked distinctly un-Akielon.

Damen was in Vere, but he had never heard or seen any evidence of this fort. So maybe it wasn’t Veretian. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t Akielon.

Naturally, Damen kicked his horse gently into action, and headed straight for it. Had Nikandros been there, he would’ve declared what a bad idea that was. Had Nikandros been there, Damen might’ve listened to him. He wasn’t, though, and Damen also had a head wound. That was his defence, at least. That, and his natural curiosity.

His curiosity was responsible for getting him into a lot of sticky situations, but as Damen approached the fort, he didn’t think this would be one of them. Damen was wrong.

The fort may have been crumbling, may have had cracked masonry and damaged ramparts, but as soon as he was able to make that out, he was also able to see the couple of guards that scurried across the top of the gates. Their blue livery came into better view as Damen slowed his horse to a walk, and entered the main courtyard, seeing the guards rush quickly towards him.

Damen smiled, thinking maybe they were here to attend to him, to take his horse to whatever stables they had here to feed and water it. Again, Damen was wrong.

The shorter of the guards drew his sword and pointed it up at Damen, who quickly dropped his smile and went for his own weapon. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded in Veretian.

‘Who are you?’ Damen asked in the same, unsure if he was in any real danger or not.

‘I asked you first,’ the man said, coming closer, reaching to point the sword up at Damen’s ribs. ‘Answer me.’

‘I am Prince Damianos of Akielos. Who are you?’ Damen repeated. ‘Lower your weapon, or I’ll have you flogged for treason.’

‘You are not in Akielos, your Highness,’ the man laughed, an ice-edged thing. ‘You are in Vere.’

Damen had figured that by the language. It was a good thing he had been made to learn it for diplomatic purposes. ‘Yet you are not rushing to kill me,’ he noted.

The man exchanged a look with the other guard who had followed him, slightly taller, and clutching his sword. ‘We have no quarrel with you,’ the man said, sheathing his sword, ‘however we cannot allow you to leave just yet.’

‘How hospitable of you,’ Damen muttered, sliding his own sword back into his belt, and climbing off his horse. ‘I assume I will not be allowed my weapon?’

‘No,’ the man smiled wryly, holding his hand out.

Damen rolled his eyes and removed the sword once more, handing it over. He knew better than to start a fight right now and risk elevating the tension between Akielos and Vere by slaughtering the men of their forts, even one as unkempt as this.

‘Follow me,’ the man said, heading for a small door off the courtyard.

Damen sighed and began to follow the man, turning briefly before he ducked into the doorway to see that the gates had been shut, and his horse was being walked off. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Dungeons. A mere precaution, I assure you.’

‘Your assurances mean much to me.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ the man said cheerfully, waving him into a cell with a rusty iron-barred door. ‘I will return shortly. Apologies, your highness.’

Damen rolled his eyes and began to pace his cell. He knew how this would go. They’d leave him down here for hours, at least, and then come down to interrogate him, probably by force. He couldn’t even prove his own identity, because everything was in his saddlebags, and he wouldn’t be able to fight his way out, because he had no weapon. Well, he had a very small dagger hidden under the edge of his armour, but that really wasn’t good for much except cutting ropes he may find himself faced with.

There were no ropes here, and it was too big to use to pick the lock.

So, basically, Damen was stuck in this cell until someone decided to come back for him. Great.

He let out a breath, turning his thoughts to the fort he was currently in. It didn’t seem well maintained, and they clearly didn’t have people here often – or at all, given the utter lack of _anything_ in this cell – so maybe this was just an outpost. An abandoned outpost, even, taken up by some locals who had decided to play at kings and armies.

Perhaps, then, Damen would be able to take out all the men in this fort. Maybe they weren’t trained, and the colours they wore were simply abandoned and left behind, like the shell of this fort. Forgotten, ignored, surplus. There couldn’t be many people here. At least two, but he couldn’t hear anyone else, and he hadn’t seen anyone else. Or any signs of life at all, really.

Damen didn’t have to consider these facts for much longer than the time it took for him to come up with his theories in the first place, because the man who had done all the talking when he arrived was coming back down the short corridor to where Damen was being held.

‘I have been requested to ask how you came to be here,’ the man said, bypassing any pleasantries.

‘On my horse,’ Damen said flatly. ‘Your man took him, remember?’

‘I remember. However, this place is not marked, and is well hidden from the eyes of men,’ he said, looking Damen slowly up and down. ‘So, how did you come to be here?’

‘I was attacked on the road with my companion. We separated two days ride from Marlas, and I fell unconscious. My horse led me to a stream and from there, I came to see this place,’ Damen shrugged. ‘It was clear and plain to see.’

‘It is neither clear, nor plain.’

‘I think you’ll find it is, as I am here.’

‘You are the first in many years to come to this place.’

Damen crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you expecting me to say? No one led me here, I don’t know what this place is, or who _you_ are, or who you apparently report to.’

‘My name is Jord,’ he said. ‘I have been permitted to escort you to your horse, should you retain proof there of your identity.’

‘Then I suggest you unlock the door.’

‘You have proof?’

‘Some,’ Damen eyed him warily. ‘What are you intending to do with me?’

‘We cannot allow you to leave until we understand how you came to be in this place.’

‘Who is we?’

Jord paused, held himself stiffly as to not give away whatever thought crossed his mind. ‘The lord of the house.’

‘Who is?’

Jord shook his head, remained silent, and returned the way he came. He didn’t even unlock the door for Damen.

Today was getting better and better.


	2. Chrysos

After leaving Damen alone in the dungeons – again – Jord returned a short while later, this time with someone following behind.

The corridor was not the brightest place. There were a few windows that looked to the courtyard, and only one small, barred square of space in each cell. Even so, the person that came with Jord seemed to glow. Their hair, at least, seemed to absorb every iota of light possible to shine brightly in the darkness.

Jord stopped at the door and held his hand lightly on the grip of his sword, saying nothing as Damen and this new arrival took each other in.

It was a man, young, tall and lithe, with beautiful ivory features and bright blue eyes to accompany the golden hair, pulled back into a neat braid. His clothes were a blue so dark it was close to black, laced high into his throat, and tight over his arms. His hands were gloved and held loosely together as he watched Damen move in the cell like a caged lion.

‘Who are you?’ the man asked, voice stronger than Damen would have expected. ‘How did you come to be here?’

‘I have answered these questions,’ Damen said, doing his best to keep himself in check.

‘I would like you to tell _me_ the answers.’

Damen stopped pacing and came close to the bars of his cell. The man didn’t move, but Jord’s grip fastened on his weapon. ‘I am Damianos of Akielos. I do not know where I am, or where this place is, or how I came to be here. You have no right to keep me hostage here.’

‘You are not a hostage. Whatever gave you that impression?’

Damen raised his eyebrows and gestured around himself. ‘Shall I give you three clues, or can you see the dungeon I’m standing in?’

‘Damianos,’ the man repeated thoughtfully. ‘The Crown Prince.’

‘Yes.’

‘Unfortunately, your Highness, I cannot let you go.’

‘Your master can, surely. I wish you no ill will and must return to my path to meet with my companion.’

‘I am the master here,’ the man said. ‘I understand your position and will allow you to send a messenger from my staff, but you must stay.’

‘Why?’ Damen asked. ‘I’ve been told that before, but no one has explained why.’

‘Because you should not have been able to find this place at all. I cannot release you, because I do not want any other people to find it, either.’

‘Why not? Surely you do not think you’re important enough to search for.’

‘I feel as if I am important, even if in the grand scheme of things, I am not. Damianos, you of all people should be able to understand me, as arrogant as I seem.’

Damen raised his eyebrows slowly. ‘Excuse me?’

The man with the golden hair seemed unperturbed. ‘You will be given rooms befitting your status, but you will be guarded. Any attempt to leave this place will see you killed. Do you understand?’

‘I am the heir to Akielos. You cannot simply _kill_ me and think you’ll face no consequences.’

‘You are the first person to arrive here in the last ten years,’ the man said with a small shrug. ‘I do not think anyone will be coming here after you, unless you are the one leading them.’

‘I don’t even know where _this_ is!’

‘I am sure that if you rode out and tried to ride back, you would find it.’

‘So, what,’ Damen asked, throwing his hands up. ‘You’re just going to keep me here? For how long?’

‘As long as it takes.’

‘For what? What are you waiting for?’

The man contemplated the question for a moment, flicking his eyes over Damen, before carefully saying, ‘Death.’

Damen balked. ‘You’re waiting for death?’

‘Aren’t we all?’ he sighed. ‘Jord, show him to the… _royal_ chambers. Have one of the others stay with him, then come see me.’

‘Certainly,’ Jord said, giving a short bow.

As the other man made to leave, Damen approached the cell door. ‘Wait!’ he called.

‘Yes?’ the man asked, the long braid down his back swinging gently with the movement.

‘What’s your name? If I’m being held here, I should at least know who by.’

The man glanced to Jord, who shrugged imperceptibly. With another light sigh, the man spoke quietly. ‘My name is Laurent.’

Damen felt like the name should have been familiar. As for now, he couldn’t place it and didn’t want to seem like a fool for trying. ‘May I call you Laurent?’ Damen asked. ‘Or do you prefer some meaningless title?’

‘Meaningless title?’

‘You are no _sir_ , no _master_ , no _lord_. Simply meaningless.’

Laurent smiled wickedly. ‘What if I am not? Meaningless?’

‘I’m sure I would know if you were of a certain status.’

‘Would you?’ Laurent’s smile dropped. ‘Given your supposed status, which I would like evidence of, Laurent is fine.’

‘May _I_ call you Laurent?’ Jord piped up, his overly familiar tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

‘You may not,’ Laurent said, keeping his eyes on Damen, as he turned to walk away with the ghost of a smile on his face. ‘Find me in my chambers, Jord.’

‘Of course, sir,’ Jord said, bowing once more to the retreating form of Laurent, before turning to unlock the door to Damen’s cell. ‘You said you had proof of your identity?’

‘With my horse, yes,’ Damen said. This entire exchange had left a sour taste in his mouth for reasons he couldn’t place, and he figured that despite the warnings, he was going to have to find a way to escape this place.

As Jord led the way to the stables, Damen looked around and noted possible exits from the fort. There really weren’t that many. As he had approached, the sides of the fort seemed to be relatively sheer, with little in the way of hand and footholds. Any jumping out of windows or off the ramparts would be at least hazardous to Damen’s health. He could sneak around and kill everyone here in the dead of night, but Damen was no murderer.

It seemed, for the time being, until he came up with a better plan, that Damen would be stuck here. He’d have to take up the offer of a messenger to Nikandros, which he realised may not be entirely serious, but he’d have to try. Not like he could offer directions. _“I’m in a fort in the middle of nowhere. I see no landmarks. Please hurry.”_

That didn’t seem to him as overly convincing.

Deciding that for now, this was it, Damen turned his thoughts to the… Laurent. Commander of the fort, maybe? Jord, at least, seemed to report to him, despite how young he looked, and probably was. Damen wondered why they had elected him their leader. Laurent struck him as the kind of person used to being obeyed and lauded over, so maybe it was less of an election, and more that he had simply implanted himself as such.

Surely, he couldn’t have any _real_ status, even if the way Laurent carried himself seemed to suggest otherwise. Maybe it was just the status he was afforded here that was getting to his head.

As they reached the stables, and Jord led Damen to where his horse was being held, he pushed the thought of Laurent from his mind. They passed several horses, from a tall, sleek black stallion, to a beautiful, strawberry roan mare, eventually ending up at his own horse, Bucephalus, his dark brown coat brushed down after having his tack removed.

His horse had been given fresh water and feed, and was swishing his tail contentedly as he ate. Damen immediately went to him, unlocking his gate and stepping close to stroke his neck and scratch gently behind his ear. ‘He will be looked after, yes?’ Damen asked, smiling as Bucephalus nudged his hand, looking for treats.

‘Of course,’ Jord said. ‘You can see him, perhaps even ride him outside the walls, should… the…’

‘Laurent?’

‘Yes, should he allow it.’

‘Do you think that’s at all likely?’

‘Not currently,’ Jord shrugged. ‘I’m sorry to rush you, but if you would.’

The saddlebags had been swung over a nearby partition for collection, and after checking over Bucephalus for _anything_ , Damen dug through it for his pin and signet ring. He never wore the ring, usually because he had his pin, but it was good to have in case of emergencies, his mother said – emergencies like this, it seemed.

‘May I take these with me?’ Damen asked, hefting the bags in his arms.

‘If you wish. Would you like me to carry them, your Highness?’ Jord asked, saying his title like it was almost a curse.

‘No, that’s fine,’ Damen said, clutching them a little closer to his chest, and giving his horse a wistful glance as he followed Jord back out of the stables and, he assumed, to his chambers.

The inside of the fort was in better condition than the outer walls, but that wasn’t exactly saying much. The stonework was old and solid, much of the walls covered by tapestries and paintings. There was some décor, mostly of the frivolous Veretian style, with scrollwork and patterns covering much of the furniture they passed. Nothing, however, looked terribly new.

They passed a couple of hunting dogs lounging by a fire, who looked up lazily and quickly deemed Damen as uninteresting for the moment. There were few staff, and they only passed three men in the same livery as Jord playing cards, and maybe three others. Two aging men, and an older woman, all of whom gave Damen a wary glance. That only made eight people, total, that Damen knew were here.

Jord bypassed the main staircase, instead leading him to one near the kitchens. It spiralled up, with small, slit windows overlooking more of the nothingness they were surrounded by. ‘You may have already guessed, but we don’t often get guests here,’ he said, giving Damen a rueful smile as he pushed open a carved wooden door.

Damen raised an eyebrow as he entered the room. The bed looked like it would at least be able to accommodate someone of his height, even if it was unmade for now. There was a fire going, freshly started in the small fireplace opposite the bed, and a small table and chair were underneath one of the windows. A few other bits and pieces were around – a small, low couch, some tapestries, and a set of drawers – but the room seemed more basic than Damen imagined.

‘Someone will make the bed for you before the night falls,’ Jord said, maybe trying to soften the blow of how dismal these _royal chambers_ were. ‘Will this be suitable?’

Damen sighed, walking across to put the saddlebags on the table. He was a soldier. He’d slept in worse places. ‘It will suffice.’

‘Apologies on behalf of the house,’ Jord said, giving him a small bow. ‘May I take your pin and signet? I will return quickly and with parchment, if you wish to write a message to your companion of your… situation.’

‘That would be appreciated,’ Damen nodded, reluctantly placing what amounted to his security into Jord’s hands. ‘The pin is the symbol of my household, the ring passed down through my lineage.’

Jord nodded. ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured, leaving Damen, once again, behind in a cell.

***

Laurent had been pacing for several minutes now. He found himself unable to sit still at the possibility that he may have been discovered by a member of the Akielon royal family. He didn’t know if Damianos would remember him, or remember hearing of him, but he found himself able to believe that this man could be the boy he had met so, so long ago.

Jord didn’t bother knocking before he entered Laurent’s chambers. They were well past that point, even if it was what politeness dictated.

‘Well?’ he asked, as Jord shut the door behind himself.

‘It is becoming increasingly likely for this to be Damianos of Akielos,’ Jord said, approaching Laurent with two shining items in his hand. ‘His horse bore the mark of the royal household, he has the pin of his personal household, and the signet of the crown prince. I still don’t know how he found Acquitart.’

‘Fuck,’ Laurent said, not without feeling, and held his hand out for Jord to drop the items into. He inspected the pin and ring and shook his head, dropping them back into Jord’s hand. ‘He doesn’t seem to remember me, at least.’

‘How old were you?’

‘I was very young. He, not so much, but still very self-absorbed, as princes are wont to be,’ Laurent said wryly.

‘Is it possible he doesn’t remember because of the..?’

‘I don’t know. I barely understand how it works for Acquitart as a whole.’

Jord nodded. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘We can’t let him go, even if what he says is true and he got here by pure chance. Allow him to send a message to whoever, give him no reason to attempt escape, because if he does and we need to kill him, we cannot have both Akielos _and_ Vere after us.’

‘Would it be possible for him to ride his horse outside the gates?’

‘No. Not until he trusts us by his own admittance.’

‘Agreed.’ Jord clenched his hand briefly around the items provided by Damianos, fighting himself not to cross the very delicate boundary he and Laurent had set between them. ‘I know it’s not my place, but I can tell this is scaring you. Try not to worry, we will deal with this some way or another.’

Laurent nodded, and for a moment, Jord saw his face shift to that of a scared young man. It disappeared faster than it had appeared. ‘I know. It should go without saying, but make sure no one tells him anything.’

‘Of course. Will we allow him to send a messenger?’

‘We must. Send Orlant.’

‘I’ll have him prepare his horse at once,’ Jord said, bowing and making his way out, as Laurent headed to one of his windows, the signal for him to leave.

Laurent had always had a talent for keeping his emotions in check. He had an iron will and nothing ever broke past him, but as Jord quietly shut the door, Laurent allowed himself to release one shaky breath. After so long, he had been found. It shouldn’t have been possible, yet, here they were.

And he was terrified.

***

Damen had been investigating one of the tapestries in his room when Jord arrived back. He carefully placed some parchment and ink on the small table, then drew out the pin and signet from his pocket to give back to Damen. ‘You have been permitted to send one message.’

‘One?’ Damen asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘Just one?’

‘How many would you like to send?’

Damen went to say _more than that_ , but realistically, Ios was at least two weeks ride, and that was more time than he wanted to spend here. Nikandros would be at Marlas by now, and surely that was only a few days away. ‘Just one,’ he said slowly. ‘To Marlas.’

Jord nodded. ‘A messenger is preparing, so it would be prudent of you to write quickly. Your Highness.’

Damen sat at the table and lifted the quill. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know where he was, and wasn’t even totally sure of who these people were. He didn’t trust them, and didn’t expect any of them to know Akielon, so he wrote in his mother tongue.

 

> _I will not be at Marlas to meet you. I am hostage by Veretians not of Vere._
> 
> _I do not know where I am, and searching would be useless, but I do not think they will hurt me, as they are allowing me to send this to you._
> 
> _I will try to leave, if I can, but I am sure you will do Akielos proud to avoid war in my absence._
> 
> _Do not send men after this rider. They will be killed, and I am sure of that._
> 
> _– D._

Damen waited a moment for the ink to dry, before he reached for the candle Jord had delivered to seal the letter. He dripped some wax onto the parchment and pressed his signet into it. When the wax had set, he stood and faced Jord. ‘May I give this personally to the messenger?’

‘As you wish,’ Jord said, leading him from the room. ‘Do you think we’re going to burn the letter? Ask the messenger to just go to the nearest town for a few days and come back?’

Damen narrowed his eyes as they went down a different corridor, turning a corner to arrive at the top of the main staircase. ‘I definitely do now.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Jord smiled slightly, as he pushed open a door to the courtyard, where the other guard from earlier was waiting, packs in hand, for a horse to be brought. ‘We’re not going to trick you.’

‘Jord,’ the other guard greeted. ‘And this is the… prince?’

‘Prince,’ Damen confirmed. ‘Damianos.’

‘Orlant,’ the man offered. ‘Where am I taking this letter?’

‘Marlas. You are to hand it _directly_ to the kyros of Delpha, Nikandros.’

‘Nikandros of Delfeur?’ Orlant asked, doing his best to disguise the confusion in his voice. ‘Not someone in Ios?’

‘Would you prefer a longer journey?’

‘Well,’ Orlant’s eyes slid to Jord, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. ‘It’s nice to get away from our _charming_ lord and commander every now and then.’

‘You should not speak ill of your lord,’ Damen said. He might not know, nor particularly like Laurent very much at this point, but if he caught any soldiers under his charge talking about their captains like that, they would be disciplined and most certainly not do it again.

‘I would not, and you misunderstand,’ Orlant said, turning to the sound of hooves as a horse was led across to him by a guard Damen had not seen yet. ‘There are few of us here, and it can be…’

‘Suffocating,’ the new guard said, ‘but it could be worse.’

Orlant rolled his eyes and tugged on the horse’s tack to make sure it was done right. ‘Better here than –’

Jord kicked his ankle. ‘You should leave if you want to make the closest town before dark.’

Orlant mounted the horse, bending briefly to rub his leg exaggeratedly. ‘Nikandros of Delfeur?’ he asked Damen once more. ‘At Marlas?’

‘Nikandros directly. Tell him I expect a reply.’

‘I will make sure you get one,’ Orlant said, taking the letter and slipping it into his bag.

Damen and Jord watched Orlant leave through the main gate, and Damen turned to the new guard, who had stayed with them, looking bored about the whole situation. ‘He’ll take at least an extra day,’ the new guard said. ‘He left last time, too.’

‘That’s because he always comes back,’ Jord muttered.

‘I come back!’

‘Reluctantly.’

‘No one here ever wants to _fuck_ me.’

‘Does anyone outside these gates want to?’

The guard looked offended, and like he might start a fight over Jord’s words. ‘Are you saying you wouldn’t fuck me?’

‘Lazar, I’m saying you wouldn’t be my first choice.’

‘I’m _everyone’s_ first choice,’ the guard, Lazar, scoffed. He turned to Damen and poked him in the arm, earning a small gasp from Jord. ‘You. You’d fuck me, right?’

‘ _Lazar_ , do you know who this is?’ Jord hissed, slapping his hand away.

‘No, should I?’

‘It’s fine,’ Damen grinned. ‘But no offence, you wouldn’t be my first choice either. Not quite my type.’

Lazar looked him up and down slowly. ‘You’re Akielon, right?’

‘I am.’

‘Don’t you all fuck women? Spread the seed?’

‘Do you?’

Lazar shrugged by way of answer. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Damianos.’

‘Isn’t the Akielon prince called Damianos?’ Lazar asked Jord.

‘He is,’ Jord agreed. ‘We just sent Orlant to deliver a message from Damianos to Delfeur.’

‘I see.’ Lazar pursed his lips and nodded slowly, letting his eyes drift from Jord to Damen and back. ‘My apologies.’

Damen shrugged. ‘What now? How long do you intend to keep me here? Laurent said he’s waiting for death and gave no indication of that being a metaphor.’

‘It’s probably not a metaphor,’ Jord said. ‘We don’t know how you got here.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘No,’ Jord shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t have been able to find this place.’

‘What he’s saying is that we’re not on any maps here,’ Lazar offered. ‘People who look directly at this place usually don’t see it. _No one_ comes here, not unless –’

‘There are no exceptions,’ Jord said, giving Lazar a meaningful look.

‘So there’s, what, magic?’ Damen asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. ‘Hiding this fort?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ Lazar said, before Jord could say anything.

‘You can’t speak to royalty like that,’ Jord hissed.

‘Why not? He has no power here.’

‘That may be true but –’

‘What’s the deal with this place?’ Damen interrupted. ‘Why are you all here?’

‘His –’ Lazar stopped abruptly, as Jord stood on his foot.

‘That,’ Jord said, ‘is definitely none of your business.’

‘Is anyone here actually important enough to hold me here against my wishes, or are you all peasants playing at lords?’ Damen asked, crossing his arms.

‘Laurent is, for all intents and purposes, a lord,’ Jord said slowly. ‘He’s in charge, I’m captain of the guard.’

‘Hmm,’ Damen eyed the pair of them slowly, trying to find a loose thread to pull to make whatever bullshit story that was unravel. ‘Well. Am I allowed to bathe?’

‘Sure, we’ll get you a bucket,’ Lazar snorted.

Jord sighed in resignation at Lazar and his quips. ‘We’ll make arrangements if you wish to bathe.’

‘Wonderful,’ Damen smiled. ‘I’ll escort myself back to my room, assuming that is where I am to stay.’

‘It is.’

‘Then you know where to find me,’ Damen said, giving them a cheery smile and disappearing from the courtyard.

***

This was bad. Very bad. Arguably one of the worst things that Nikandros could have done. He’d lost Damen, the heir to the throne, on the way to the border where he was desperately needed. He hadn’t even lost Damen in the middle of nowhere – he’d lost him less than three days’ ride to Marlas. Well within the homestretch. It was almost embarrassing.

He was sure Damen would have met him at Marlas, no more than a couple days after he arrived himself, and yet, in his place, some strange man in riding clothes appeared, demanding an audience with the kyros of Delfeur.

He spoke stilted Akielon greetings when Nikandros arrived in the small audience chamber, bowing low in the Veretian style.

‘Who are you?’ Nikandros asked in Veretian, watching him warily as he went into his bag and pulled out a letter. 

‘My name is Orlant,’ the man replied, smiling gratefully at the switch to his own language. ‘You are the kyros, Nikandros?’

‘I am.’

‘I was asked to deliver this directly to you,’ Orlant said, handing him the letter. ‘I was also asked to request a reply.’

Nikandros turned the letter over and his eyebrows slowly rose as he saw Damen’s seal imprinted in the wax. ‘This is from Damianos,’ he said, surprised. ‘Have you seen him? Is he well?’

‘He was when I last saw him,’ Orlant replied with a shrug.

Nikandros slid his finger under the edge of the parchment, working up the seal gently, as over the edge of the letter, he eyed Orlant walking around and looking at the wall tapestries with polite interest. ‘Who commands you?’ he asked, startling Orlant a little.

‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ Orlant replied, inclining his head a little in apology. ‘I cannot tell you where, either.’

Nikandros narrowed his eyes and read the letter from Damen quickly, breathing deeply to control his emotions. He didn’t even know what those emotions _were_ , but he did know he couldn’t unleash their consequences on this man. ‘You hold Damianos,’ Nikandros said, his voice carefully measured. ‘He is hostage of your… lord?’

Orlant was quiet for a moment, finally showing signs of nervousness, as he clenched his hands at his sides. ‘It is… complicated.’

‘Tell me _how_ it is complicated. I advise you to choose your words carefully.’

‘We are… afraid,’ Orlant explained, ‘that if Prince Damianos should leave, that people will come in his wake.’

‘What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that we have nothing against Prince Damianos, but we will hold him as long as need be in order to secure our own safety.’

Nikandros placed Damen’s letter carefully onto the small table next to him and took a step towards Orlant. ‘Are you threatening the life of the Crown Prince of Akielos?’

‘No, that’s not –’

‘That’s what it sounds like to me, so you should explain to me in precise words what is going on, before I send your horse back with your head in a _sack_.’

Orlant swallowed visibly. ‘Damianos is not in danger, we have no intention to hurt him or use him to gain favour with anyone. We simply hold him until the King of Vere is dead.’

‘The King is not an old man,’ Nikandros said, raising his eyebrows. ‘You cannot _hold Damianos_ until he is dead.’

‘We must.’

‘Why?’

‘You wish for peace?’ Orlant asked. ‘You wish to avoid war?’

‘Of course.’

‘My lord, the man holding Prince Damianos can _prevent_ your war.’

‘You are enemies of Vere, then?’ Nikandros asked. ‘Of the King, himself?’

‘We…’ Orlant trailed off, his face contorting, like he was fighting a battle with himself. ‘My lord and commander is wanted by the King. If Damianos leaves and is able to find his way back when people can follow him, then we will be found, and all is lost.’

‘Your lord and commander is who?’ Nikandros demanded. ‘Why is he so important?’

Orlant shifted his weight nervously. ‘You would not believe me.’

‘Oh? Try me.’

‘My lord is the last surviving heir to the Veretian throne,’ Orlant said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I serve the golden prince, Laurent.’


	3. Xenia

Nikandros was stunned. That was… not possible. Years ago, when Nikandros was still in the place between boyhood and manhood, they had been told of a tragedy in Vere.

King Aleron and Queen Hennike had been killed after a hired assassin snuck into their chambers and slit their throats in their bed. Not soon after, their Crown Prince, Auguste, had disappeared. No one knew where to – though, there were rumours he had drowned, or was poisoned, or had been stabbed on a hunting trip and left behind to die. There was even a suggestion that his uncle, the current King, had drugged him and he’d been encased in gold, turned into a statue and now used as decoration in the grand entrance hall of the royal palace in Arles.

His younger brother, Laurent, had also disappeared not long after. No one knew where he had gone, only that his staff and personal guards had gone with him. Maybe he’d been killed, or maybe he thought he was next in the apparent erasure of his family by his scheming uncle.

The uncle who was now king and had assured everyone and anyone who asked that Laurent was indeed dead.

So, to now be in front of a man claiming to be a member of the missing prince’s household was beyond anything Nikandros had expected.

‘You are of Prince Laurent’s guard?’ Nikandros asked slowly. ‘You have seen him? With your own eyes?’

‘I am, I have,’ Orlant said. ‘I implore you not to share this information, whether with your staff or a member of the Akielon royal household, and not with Damianos, himself.’

Nikandros nodded. He understood. Should anyone find out that Laurent was alive, and that this man could lead them directly to him, then they would all become a target and Damianos would be caught in the crossfire. The King of Vere wished nothing more than to have complete control of the country, and if it got back to _him_ that Laurent was alive, then he would stop at nothing to kill him, and all hope of a reconciled relationship between Akielos and Vere would be lost.

‘What you mean to say,’ Nikandros said, lowering his voice, ‘is that the future of both my country and yours depends on Damianos staying with your people and Prince Laurent until it can be assured that neither of them will die if Damianos leaves.’

‘That is exactly what I mean to say,’ Orlant confirmed.

‘Damianos does not know any of this, I assume.’

‘Not when I left, no.’

‘Are there any plans to tell him?’

‘Unlikely.’

‘He _will_ figure it out,’ Nikandros said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. ‘It might take him some time, but he will. Be prepared for that moment, because Damianos will fight to help Laurent when he does.’

‘He will?’

‘Damen has no sense of self-preservation, but one all too great of justice. You said Damen wanted a reply to his letter?’

‘Yes, Lord.’

‘And you will depart at dawn?’

‘I will.’

Nikandros nodded. ‘I’ll have someone show you to some guest quarters and be sure to have a letter ready by morning. If you are able to carry a bag for Damianos, that will be waiting for you also.’

‘Yes, Lord. My thanks.’

‘Excellent,’ Nikandros said, leading him back to the doors and calling for a servant. ‘Make yourself at home.’

***

Damen opened an eye when he heard a knock on his door. Since Orlant had left with the message, it seemed there was nothing for him to do here, except nap. He was so far making much greater use of this bed than he thought had ever been intended. ‘Yes?’

The door opened to reveal Jord, but he didn’t come into the room. ‘Your Highness, we have had the baths prepared for you.’

‘There are baths here?’

Jord smiled. ‘Yes, Highness. If you would follow me.’

Damen rose slowly from the bed and rolled his shoulders as he followed Jord down the hall and a short flight of stairs. Damen looked around at the ornamentation of the room – the small, finely carved table set with bottles and cloths, the intricacies of the carvings in the walls and around the edge of the steaming baths. ‘Is this the lord’s bath?’ he asked.

‘It is,’ Jord nodded. ‘There is only one for such a… status.’

‘Who else uses this room?’

‘Lord Laurent,’ Jord said. ‘He politely requests you do not use the blue or purple soaps, as they are his personal favourites.’

‘Politely?’ Damen asked, opening one of the aforementioned bottles and giving it a cursory sniff. He couldn’t quite put a name to the scent, but he recognised it as a flower of Vere.

Jord smiled. ‘Do you require attendance?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘We do not have any Akielon garments here, so we have gathered some Veretian clothing for you, until we can have your own washed. Lord Laurent apologises for the quality.’

‘He does, does he?’

‘No, but they’re the only ones we have that will fit you, and the nights here get cold quickly, so I’m sure you won’t want to walk around naked,’ Jord said, flushing a little as he finished his sentence. Whether that was at his own brazenness, after berating Lazar for speaking in such a manner, or at the thought of Damen naked, he couldn’t tell – but he liked to think it was the latter.

‘No,’ Damen murmured, ‘we surely would not want me to be naked in the cold.’

Jord flushed a little deeper, and Damen was right. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, bowing shortly. ‘Highness.’

‘Thank you, Jord,’ Damen said, as he shut the door behind him.

He slid the small bar across the door to lock it and turned to the room at large. As Damen explored the room further, he found it to have a small alcove. Inside was a bench seat and two large bowls of water, evidently to clean the dust off himself more thoroughly. He found the clothes Jord had mentioned on a shelf, further away from all the steam and water, next to a pile of towels and cloths.

The warmth of the room was beginning to make Damen sweat, so he stripped quickly from his chiton and dropped it on the floor, unlacing his sandals and abandoning those, too, as he headed towards the dishes of water to scrub the layer of dirt and grime encasing his skin.

Damen almost felt bad at how disgusting the cloths were getting, but not bad enough to stop and be less thorough. He found a longer cloth and used that to clean his back, but that probably hadn’t received the worst of the dirt, so he wasn’t too obsessive about it. The cut on his head, however, stung as he touched water to it, though the small mirror Damen found propped beside the soaps showed it to be shallow and thin. Nothing too terrible, but it might scar.

He went through the bottles slowly, opening them all one at a time. The green soaps were nicest to him – a darker green that smelled lightly like pine, and a lighter blue-green that reminded him of home, the way the ocean spray hit the cliffs below the castle walls in Ios. He poured a decent amount into the bath, and the scent filled the room quickly, while Damen inspected the rest of the items along with the soaps. There were small jars of salts, with what looked like herbs sprinkled through, and a larger one that seemed to be plain, like the bath salts that Damen used at home when his muscles were sore after a day’s training.

He opened the smaller jars, too, purely out of curiosity, and was hit with waves of lemongrass and lavender and other things he didn’t recognise. Damen shut those quickly, not wanting them to cover up the smell of the bath too much, and instead sprinkled a scoop of the larger jar of salts into the bath. He finally decided it was to his liking, and stepped in.

The water was perfectly warm, bordering on too hot, but Damen was tired, and he had been through a lot the past couple of days – between getting hit over the head, sleeping on the ground for several days, and now being held hostage for reasons he didn’t even fully understand. He sank into the water, leaning against the rim of the bath and putting his legs up onto the other ledge in front of him in the water.

Damen let out a deep breath and relaxed completely into the bath, ducking his head in for a moment, before sliding back up to the edge of his chin. The smell of salt filled Damen’s nose, and he’d rarely been happier for it. He closed his eyes, and let himself stay there, basking in the warmth.

Damen must have fallen asleep again, because next he knew, there was knocking at the door. ‘Your Highness?’ Jord called cautiously. ‘Are you okay?’

Damen opened his eyes again and took note of his surroundings. The light coming through the windows was the greying haze of early evening now, and the water of the bath was barely this side of cold. ‘Yes,’ Damen replied, raising himself from the bath. ‘Just fell asleep.’

‘Do you require help with the Veretian garments?’ Jord asked.

Damen blinked. He hadn’t considered it, barely even looked at them before getting into the bath in his haste for cleanliness, but from his knowledge of Veretian clothing, he might indeed require assistance. He walked across to the door, dripping water everywhere, and unlocked the door. ‘I might, yes,’ he said, heading to the stack of towels and drying himself off.

The door opened and Jord walked in with a lit candle, going quickly to the others dotted around the room to banish the darkness. ‘Oh!’ Jord said, upon finding Damen naked in the alcove. ‘My apologies, Highness.’

Damen looked down, and saw nothing to offend Jord. ‘For what?’ Damen asked, putting his damp towel with the rest of his used linens.

‘You are naked, Highness.’

‘Don’t you all consummate marriages with witnesses?’ Damen asked stepping into the pair of pants that Jord held to him without turning around. ‘Surely you’ve seen a cock before.’

‘Yes, Highness, I have,’ Jord said. ‘But never that of royalty, and I’m sure it should stay that way. Also, it’s only royal marriages that are consummated with witnesses. And it’s only the council.’

‘Which is a group of old men, correct?’ Damen frowned, holding the ends of the laces in his hands while attempting to figure out how to lace the pants.

‘It is, yes,’ Jord replied, looking over his shoulder from the corner of his eye and turning when he saw Damen was no longer stark naked. ‘Personally, I find it a rather archaic practice, but tradition is tradition.’

‘Sometimes tradition is worse,’ Damen said, sighing in resignation as Jord took over the laces, quickly and efficiently doing up the pants. ‘You’re very good at this.’

Jord looked up and raised an eyebrow. ‘I used to help Laurent with his.’

‘Used to?’

‘He grew up.’ Jord picked up the shirt and handed it to Damen.

Damen slipped it on over his head and grimaced at all the laces trailing off him again. ‘Why is this clothing so complicated?’

‘Why not?’ Jord asked, attending to the sleeves first, then tackling the chest laces, doing his best to avoid skin contact with Damen.

‘I can think of many reasons why not,’ Damen replied, tugging on the shirt once it was all tightened and tied off.

‘We have boots for you, also,’ Jord said, nodding to the shoes he had brought in while Damen was drying off. ‘Lazar has been sent to the closest trading post to get some that will be a better fit, along with some new clothes. Sleeping clothes will be delivered tonight, along with extra comforts.’

‘That is very kind of you, thank you.’

‘Lord Laurent requests your presence for dinner, to be served in an hour or so.’

Damen nodded. ‘I’ll be there. May I visit my horse?’

‘Certainly. There’s a jacket in your chambers, if you need it. I’ll have your clothing washed and returned to you within the next few days.’

‘Thank you,’ Damen said again, picking up his sandals and leaving the bathing room.

The boots were a little uncomfortable as he headed towards his chambers, too stiff against the shape of his own feet, but he’d deal with it. On his bed, as Jord said, was a jacket. It was a heavy, dark blue material, softer inside than he would have thought given the rough exterior, but he shrugged it on and was warmer instantly.

The air of the fort was colder up here than it had been in the baths, and as Damen left his room to visit the stables, he bumped into an older woman coming in with an armful of wood. ‘My apologies,’ Damen said, picking up most of it and waving her ahead of him to drop it into a small stack beside the fireplace. He nodded his thanks to her, and left again, hoping to be uninterrupted on his way down.

The courtyard was barely light as he made his way across it to the stables, a torch outside next to the door. It wasn’t locked, thankfully, and he pushed it open, making his way down to his horse.

‘Hello,’ he murmured, going into the stall and checking on the food and water they’d given to Bucephalus. ‘Look at that, they’ve given you the good stuff. Fresh apples, even. You’re getting spoiled.’

Damen looked around to find a brush, seeing none, and cursed under his breath. ‘No brushes? Savages.’

‘They’re in the shelves on the back wall,’ someone said from… somewhere.

‘Hello?’ Damen popped his head out, seeing no one. ‘I’m hearing voices now. See, this is why captivity is bad for you, Bucephalus.’

He headed out of the stall, going over to the back wall, as the voice had suggested. The voice was right, because there were indeed brushes there. ‘Thank you, voice in my head,’ Damen said loudly.

‘I’m not a voice in your head,’ the voice replied, and – oh, that was why it only sounded a little familiar. Laurent stuck his head out from a stall on the other side of the stable to Damen. In his rush to see his horse, he hadn’t even noticed Laurent in here.

‘I didn’t see you there,’ Damen said, beginning to brush his horse’s coat.

‘No, I can tell,’ Laurent replied. ‘I am told you made use of my baths.’

‘Yes, thank you. It was nice being able to properly clean after so long.’

Laurent hummed in response, ignoring him in favour of going back to his own horse, brushing it slowly and feeding it sugar cubes from a small pile on the barrier of the stall.

Damen noted another small pile inside his own horse’s stall and gave one to Bucephalus as he put the brush down to start undoing the braid of his mane. ‘Thank you,’ Damen said after a few minutes, barely loud enough for Laurent to hear, ‘for your hospitality.’

‘I don’t have much of a choice.’

‘You could always let me leave.’

‘How likely do you think that is to happen?’

Damen ran his fingers through Bucephalus’ mane to check for knots before brushing it slowly. ‘If I were to guess, I would say unlikely.’

‘Good guess,’ Laurent said flatly, leaving his horse’s stall and placing the brush back on the shelf at the end of the stables. He went next to a saddle that looked well-used and began checking it over.

‘I didn’t use those soaps you like,’ Damen said, trying to make conversation, ‘and I am told you requested me at dinner.’

‘Who said anything about soap?’

‘Jord. He pointed out the ones you asked I not use. The blue and purple ones at the baths. The flower, that’s –’

‘Stop,’ Laurent interrupted him and paused in checking over the tack as he turned to Damen. ‘Why are you talking to me?’

Damen frowned. ‘You are apparently the lord of this house, and I was raised to be polite.’

‘You are only here because I have limited options,’ Laurent said, his voice like ice. ‘Do not mistake my hospitality for friendliness.’

Damen stared after him as he strode from the stables, leaving Damen behind with his horse. ‘I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of your hosts,’ he said in Akielon, separating Bucephalus’ mane into sections to braid, ‘but he’s kind of a bitch.’

Bucephalus tossed his head, nosing towards the sugar cubes.

‘Yeah,’ Damen sighed, handing him another cube. ‘At least he’s nice to you.’

***

Dinner was an awkward affair.

Damen had been fetched from the stables just as he was finishing up the end of Bucephalus’ mane, and guided to the formal dining room, with a quick stop for him to wash the horse from his hands.

The dining room, much like the rest of this place, was small and old, and overly decorative. Ancient banners and fading tapestries lined the walls intermittently, and Damen was almost afraid they would catch fire from the candles dotted around to bring light. A fire was roaring to the side, and the two hunting dogs from earlier were now lazing there. They perked up as Damen entered the room, wandering over to sniff his legs and hands, their tails wagging slowly.

Damen wouldn’t have chosen to sit with Laurent after their conversation, but given that the table was rather small – only twelve seats and the heads – and only two places were set, he had no choice but to deal with it.

It was fine. Damen had excellent diplomatic skills, which was why he was this far north in the first place, and he could surely make this work.

Laurent glowered at him from his end of the table, and Damen gave him his best winning smile. He’d talked his way both into and out of many a thing with that smile, and this would be no exception.

The creases in Laurent’s face just deepened, and maybe Damen had overestimated his abilities, but he was nothing if not persistent. He did, however, drop the smile. Somehow, tonight didn’t seem like the best time to try it.

The food was simple and tasty, but a little too Veretian for Damen’s liking. There was a veritable buffet of sweet things offered, and he felt a little sick after sampling everything there was to offer, purely out of politeness. From the look on Laurent’s face when everything was brought out, Damen figured this was not an everyday occurrence, so Damen made sure to have someone thank the cook for what must have been much of the day spent in the kitchen.

Throughout the meal, Laurent remained quiet, speaking not once to Damen even to greet him, nor lifting his head enough to look at him, after Damen’s failed attempt at charming him with a smile. At least there was the crackling of the fire, and occasional whuffs from the dogs as they slept, because complete silence would have made the situation so much worse.

When the last remnants of the meal were cleared away, Laurent stood suddenly, leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at his guest. The dogs followed, and Damen was alone.

‘Don’t mind him,’ Jord said from the side of the room, nodding to where Laurent had disappeared up the main stairs. ‘He’s not used to having other people here.’

‘For someone playing at being a lord, you’d at least think he’d pretend to have the manners of one,’ Damen muttered, turning to Lazar. ‘Do none of you ever leave?’

‘Only when we need something.’

‘How long have you been here?’

Jord shrugged. ‘I told you earlier. You’re the first person to come here in over a decade.’

‘You’ve been here for ten years? Not stepped foot outside?’

‘Of course, we have,’ Jord rolled his eyes. ‘Lord Laurent rides outside the walls in the nearby forests. We hunt, gather herbs and the like. We’re not confined to the castle, but it’s safer if we don’t wander.’

Damen processed the words and rose from his seat to go to the fire. ‘What are you hiding from?’

A small smile cracked Jord’s face, as he moved away from the wall and joined him by the flames. ‘You catch on fast, Highness.’

‘I think I need to be prepared if you’re going to be attacked here.’

‘Like I said, you’re the first visitor we’ve had.’

‘But you _are_ hiding from something,’ Damen looked over and studied Jord’s face, carefully controlled and blank of emotion. ‘Or someone.’

‘I think it’s time for bed, Highness,’ Jord said, gesturing to the door. ‘I’ll accompany you.’

Damen pursed his lips and followed Jord silently to his room. The bed had been fitted with sheets and blankets, and the fire was still cheerfully going opposite. ‘Tomorrow I expect to have something else to do, other than sit in my room.’

‘Of course. We’ll organise you the finest entertainments we have to offer.’

‘Excellent,’ Damen said, closing the door and knowing full well that meant he’d be stuck in his room again.

***

Damen’s days were filled with much the same. He woke up, ate, visited Bucephalus in the stables, ate, bathed, ate, went to bed. It was monotonous, and Damen was simmering with a quiet fury by the time Lazar arrived with fresh Veretian clothing. The delivery of boots that fit him properly was a welcome change to his routine, and even then, the excitement only lasted a few short minutes.

The day Orlant arrived back from Delpha, _that_ was a much better day. It was mid-morning, and Damen was in the stables, redoing the braid of Bucephalus’ mane in a more complicated style, purely out of something to do. He had only just been instructed with this more decorative style before leaving Ios, and practicing it tested his mind and broke him free of how dreary his days were, even if it was only for a small part of his day.

The braid wasn’t looking great when he heard the gates open and Jord loudly greeting Orlant from the ramparts. Damen finished the braid, deciding to get back to it later, and apologised to Bucephalus before he left the stables and saw Jord and Orlant disappearing into the castle.

‘Prince Damianos,’ Orlant gave a small bow as Damen entered the informal dining area he had followed their voices to. ‘I was about to come find you.’

‘Not much else to do here, except tend my horse,’ Damen said. ‘You saw Nikandros?’

‘I did,’ Orlant confirmed, pushing a bag across the table to him. ‘He sends gifts.’

‘Did he send a letter?’

‘He did, yes. It’s in there somewhere.’

‘Excellent. I’ll take this,’ Damen grabbed the bag off the table, peering inside. ‘Thank you.’

Orlant nodded and went back to his conversation with Jord, as Damen took the bag up to his chambers.

Nikandros had filled it with a selection of items; a couple of fresh chitons, his own soaps from Ios, and much to Damen’s pleasure – Akielon foods. He practically moaned upon discovering the two jars of honeyed figs and candied almonds, along with some of the honey and oat biscuits Nikandros usually had a stash of when they travelled or took battalions on field exercises and war games.

The letter from Nikandros, Damen found slightly crumpled at the bottom of the bag, but the seal was intact and showed no signs of previously being opened. He opened the letter gently and read what Nikandros had to say.

 

> _I know you’ll find this hard, but you need to be calm and make no attempt to escape._
> 
> _I understand your situation, and it is best for you to stay there. I have spoken with this messenger, and believe what he says. You will be released upon the death of Vere’s king._
> 
> _In the current circumstances, that may not take long. The messenger has been informed of my wish to see you returned as soon as possible, and will, with luck, carry this message to his lord._
> 
> _You are not in danger of death, Damen. I will see you soon._
> 
> _Don’t do anything stupid._
> 
> _– N._

Damen sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the words on the parchment in front of him. _The death of Vere’s king._ The king was not old, not as far as Damen knew, so that could take years. He knew, too, that Laurent would hear Nikandros’ request for his freedom and ignore it completely. He was, it seemed, stuck.

He would surely go mad in this tiny castle before he had the chance to taste freedom.


	4. Panacea

As pleased as Damen had been to see fresh chitons, unstained by blood and free of rips and tears in the fabric, he quickly found his surroundings a little too cold to wear them much. Damen found the Veretian clothing his hosts had provided to be restrictive and almost suffocating compared to his freer flowing garments from home, but they provided more warmth, so he dealt with it, as unwilling as he was to do so.

As if the nights weren’t cold enough, the days had turned to be much the same, with sheets of rain coming down on the castle, drenching anyone who dared step foot outside the confines of the walls. Damen had discovered there was in fact a covered walkway to get to the stables, after Jord and Lazar had watched him sprint through the rain to visit Bucephalus, almost pissing themselves laughing as they disappeared briefly and reappeared on the other side of the stable doors. It turned out there was a back entrance that came from inside the castle, and no one had bothered to tell him _before_ he looked like a drowned cat.

The one saving grace Damen had come to find was the training room. It was indoors, with sandy floors that reminded him of the gymnasiums at home where he would spend hours practicing his fighting skills. Usually there was no one in there, and Damen just spent his time punching the bag in the corner, but sometimes one of the guards – Jord or Lazar, usually – was there with a sword.

They had finally allowed Damen to have his own weapons returned, and the weight of his sword was welcome in his hands after what seemed like so long. He quickly built up a routine, going through movements and steps, then running through some brief exercises he used to do with his men as part of training. Eventually, Damen switched back to a chiton for this, sometimes putting his armour on top but mostly not. There was no real point to do it if he didn’t need to, but he liked the familiarity of it, and he could almost trick himself into thinking he was back home, or just on a mission – not a captive prince in unfamiliar territory.

The first time Jord and Lazar stayed in the gymnasium after Damen arrived, he almost felt a little shy to go through his motions. He usually didn’t care what people thought, and he _knew_ he was well-trained, with the type of skill a lot of people could only dream of. It might have been a little stuck up, but it was the truth, and Damen wasn’t the one who said it. (Usually.)

Instead, Damen left his sword leaning against the wall and ran through his exercises instead, half-heartedly concentrating on the punching bag as Lazar and Jord went through their own sword drills and choreographed fights with wooden swords. They had good form, but Damen could see holes in the ways they moved.

‘Hey!’ Lazar called to Damen, as Jord bent over, clutching his ribs where he must’ve been hit.

Damen stopped and held the bag still. ‘What?’

Lazar grabbed the practice sword from Jord’s hand. ‘Wanna go?’

Damen raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you challenging me to a duel?’

‘I figure you’re a prince, right?’ Lazar tossed the sword to him as he walked over to the ring they’d drawn in the sand. ‘If I beat you, maybe I’ll inherit your kingdom.’

Damen barked a laugh and tested the weight of the sword. It was a little too blade heavy for his liking, but he’d deal with it – just like everything else in this place. ‘It’s a good thing you won’t, then.’

‘You’re wearing a dress,’ Lazar scoffed, eyeing Damen slowly, and poking Jord out of the ring towards the side lines. ‘I’ve never lost to someone in a dress.’

‘You’ve clearly never fought an Akielon, then,’ Damen grinned, not waiting for a response and going straight in with a series of thrusts to throw Lazar off balance.

Lazar’s smile dropped as he parried the blows, going on the defence as Damen relentlessly attacked from all angles, forcing him closer and closer to the edge of the circle. Lazar was mere inches from the line when he realised just how close he was, and rolled under Damen’s sword to reverse their positions. He seemed very pleased with himself, going on the attack and thinking he’d tripped him up, but it only took Damen a few moves to get the upper hand back.

Damen spun and drove Lazar back again with a complicated series of moves, his grin stretching wider as Lazar fumbled a little, his face contorting into about six different emotions in the space of a few seconds as he realised what was happening. Damen took a chance and faked a thrust, which Lazar fell for and went to parry, leaving his left side open. Damen took advantage of this and swung his sword, stopping a hair’s breadth from Lazar’s pounding jugular.

‘Fuck,’ Lazar whispered, his eyes wide as Damen reached over and took his sword from him.

‘You lost to someone wearing a dress,’ Damen said, tossing the sword to the side. ‘How was that?’

‘You’re good.’

‘I know.’

Lazar’s eyes flicked to Jord, who was sitting against the wall, still rubbing his side, but watching them attentively. ‘He’s better than I am.’

Damen lowered the sword, glancing over to Jord as well. ‘You just beat him.’

‘I’m having an off day,’ Jord shrugged.

‘I’d like to see him go against –’

‘No,’ Jord interrupted. ‘We both know that won’t happen.’

‘Go against who?’ Damen asked.

‘Me, probably,’ Laurent said, pushing himself away from where he’d been leaning in the doorway and entered the gymnasium proper. ‘Yes?’

‘Yeah,’ Lazar confirmed, doing an awkward little bow and moving to retrieve his sword. ‘Lord.’

Laurent pursed his lips and folded his arms, stopping a few feet from their circle. ‘I practice alone.’

‘Do you?’ Damen asked, feeling maybe a little too brazen after his win, still riding the high of adrenaline from the fight. ‘Or are you just for decoration and not actually any good?’

Laurent’s face darkened, his jaw setting and fists clenching in their delicate silk gloves. ‘Do not insult me.’

Damen shrugged. ‘There’s no reason for you not to fight.’

‘There is plenty of reason,’ Laurent said, stepping closer. ‘Don’t talk about things you do not understand.’

‘I understand just fine,’ Damen said, holding his hands up. ‘Despite what Nikandros thinks, you’re wrong. You people want to keep me here and think you just _can_.’

‘You are in _my_ domain, Prince Damianos, and it would do you good to remember it.’

‘Or what?’ Damen asked. His good mood from the fight was soured and he pushed himself towards Laurent, getting as close as he dared. Damen could smell the purple soap on him that Jord instructed him not to use in the baths, and the scent was close to distracting him from how suddenly annoyed he was by the whole situation. Laurent looked like he wanted to start a fight, and Damen was _itching_ for it. ‘You’re just a little boy pretending to be a lord. What will you do to me, huh, Laurent?’

‘I will make you submit.’ Laurent’s voice was low and as close to deadly as Damen had ever heard a person speak. He had no doubts Laurent meant it.

‘Gonna blink your pretty little eyes at me?’ Damen asked, matching his tone. ‘Hypnotise me into wanting to be here?’

Laurent took a breath and stepped back. ‘Believe I have my ways, Damianos.’

Damen clenched his fists at his sides and fought himself not to swing them at the way Laurent’s face grew smug when Jord and Lazar came closer to prevent where they all knew this would go.

‘If you attack our lord,’ Jord said slowly, ‘we will put you in the dungeons, no matter your status, Highness.’

‘Exalted,’ Damen said, spinning to face him and Lazar. ‘Not Highness, Exalted. I am Akielon.’

Jord bowed in apology. ‘Exalted.’

Laurent still had that look on his face, and Damen didn’t want to prove them all right by being the Akielon quick to anger. He closed his eyes for a moment, and decided to let it go. Damen relaxed his hands and walked straight past Laurent, picking up his sword on the way from the gymnasium and heading back to his rooms, before he did something truly stupid.

***

Once back, Damen paced in his rooms. He was so tired of being stuck here in this tiny little castle, surrounded by strangers who he knew nothing about, except that he was supposed to trust them and stay with them for an undefined amount of time. Damen felt like he couldn’t _breathe_ , and he needed to get away. He knew, rationally, that was not going to happen, and there was no point in trying, but he couldn’t help himself from sliding his sword into the sheath on his belt and going down to the stables to see Bucephalus.

Maybe for just a few minutes he could fool himself into thinking he could saddle him and leave this place.

Damen had barely set foot in the stall when he heard someone clear their throat by the shelves. It was Jord. ‘What do you want?’ he said, picking up the brush he’d taken to leaving with his horse.

‘I know he’s difficult to deal with,’ Jord said. ‘I know you hate being here.’

‘Then let me _leave_ ,’ Damen said through gritted teeth.

‘You know that’s not –’

‘That’s not an option,’ Damen rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t care.’

‘If you try to leave –’

‘You’ve said!’ Damen cried, smoothing his hand down Bucephalus’ side. The horse hadn’t startled – he was too well trained for that – but Damen always felt bad when he yelled near his horse in quiet environments.

Jord was silent as he waited for Damen to calm. ‘I know,’ he said after a while, ‘that this is hard for you.’

‘Do you?’

‘You forget we cannot leave, either,’ Jord smiled sadly. ‘When we first arrived here, Lord Laurent was just like you. Try explaining to a child of ten why he had to be stuck here, in a castle half falling apart, and the other half just barely hanging on. He did not understand fully, not at first. He knew bits and pieces, but he came to know it was for the best, just like you.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘You don’t want to be here, I know. We are aware a little of what is happening outside our walls, and I know you must want to help your country. Please, try to understand that your being here is what is best for now.’

‘What is _best_ is to let me leave,’ Damen muttered. ‘Why did you come here with Laurent?’

‘Why are _we_ here?’ Jord asked. ‘Or why am _I_ here?’

‘Both. Why would you spend so much of your life in service to such a petulant boy?’

‘I was a little younger than Lord Laurent when we first came here,’ Jord shrugged. ‘I vowed to spend my life in dedication to his family, and as part of that, I went where he did.’

Damen raised an eyebrow. ‘Because?’

‘That is not your concern,’ Jord said, pushing off the wall. ‘I will talk to him and see if he’ll allow us to take you riding when the weather clears.’

‘Do you think he will agree to that?’ Damen asked doubtfully, beginning to slowly brush Bucephalus’ coat.

‘He knows how you feel to have your wings clipped after having free reign of the skies, so… perhaps.’

‘I would appreciate the effort.’

‘I’ll see what I can do, Exalted,’ Jord said, giving a short bow and turning to leave the stables.

‘Jord?’ Damen called, stopping him at the door. ‘I apologise for before. I’m just frustrated, and how I behaved was unbecoming of my status.’

Jord looked surprised at Damen’s words, accepting them with a small smile. ‘Of course. I understand.’

***

‘Absolutely not,’ Laurent said, shutting down Jord’s request with a wave of his hand. ‘I will not allow you to take him beyond the walls.’

Jord barely held back an impatient sigh. ‘Laurent, he’s stagnating. He needs to be in fresh air, _open_ air –’

‘The air in the courtyard is both open and fresh. He can stand there, or maybe on the ramparts where he can admire the sheer drop from above.’

‘What about when you first got here?’ Jord challenged. ‘You were the same, wanting to run around the countryside, up into the mountains like a goat.’

‘I was a _child_.’

‘And he is not,’ Jord said, ignoring Laurent’s scowl. ‘He seems an honourable man, if he gives you his word he will return, I believe he will.’

Laurent studied Jord’s face for a few moments, drumming his fingers on his crossed arms. ‘I will hold you _personally_ responsible for him. No more than one hour’s ride in any direction, and please find something to hunt for dinner. Sanglier would be preferable.’

‘I do not think we will be able to take down a boar with just the two –’

‘No. Take Lazar and Orlant with you, and Paschal also. He can gather his herbs, if not tend to your boar-inflicted wounds.’

Jord grinned and bowed deeply, as he rarely did. ‘Thank you, Highness, a most gracious solution.’

Laurent rolled his eyes, smiling a little at the gesture. ‘I am nothing if not gracious.’

***

Damen had already apologised to Jord for his stupid little outburst in the training area earlier, but he was still feeling like an idiot by the time he’d calmed down enough for him to recognise it as nothing more than a bubbling over of his feelings. He’d insulted the lord of this household. Not only had he done that, but he’d done it in front of his staff. Damen’s mother had certainly raised him better than that, and she would’ve been appalled to hear he’d done such a thing.

Damen made up his mind to apologise. He had to. If not for Laurent’s sake then his own, and the way it was gnawing at his gut that he’d acted so pettily. Laurent could act like that if he wanted, but Damen was going to be the bigger man here – both literally and figuratively – and show that he at least had _some_ manners.

When he returned to his chambers, someone had left a basin and two jugs of water by the fire for him to clean himself with. He was grateful for the chance to wash, as much as he could, before dinner. Wrapped in the chitons Nikandros had sent, along with the Akielon soaps, was a small bottle of oil, perfumed with Akielon herbs. Damen hadn’t thought he would need it while he was here, but he was glad for it now. It made him feel like he was at least making an effort.

Around the time he was called for dinner, Damen slipped on a slightly longer chiton, using the golden, lion-crested pin of his household in place of a simpler one. It was, however, still cold and draughty in the castle, so he also wore the red cape that Nik had somehow managed to fit into the small saddle bag.

Deeming himself as good as it would get, Damen took a breath and went down to the dining room. After the first week or so, meals had moved to the smaller, informal dining room. The household still ate separately to Laurent and Damen, but it was warmer and closer to the kitchen, filled with the smells of spices and roasting meat that wafted through the door.

Laurent was already there, and looked up as Damen entered, his face giving away no emotion.

Damen might have been about to apologise, but he was still a prince and stayed standing, his hands folded behind his back as he bowed a little. ‘I owe you an apology.’

Laurent’s brow twitched, maybe in surprise like Jord. Damen wondered what it was about him that made everyone think he was too proud to know where he’d gone wrong and furthermore, admit it. ‘Oh?’ Laurent said after a pause.

‘For the way I acted in the training area,’ Damen explained, though he could tell Laurent knew exactly what he meant. ‘I should not have insulted you in the way I did, especially not after the hospitality you’ve shown me, however much neither of us want me here. It is not a reflection of who I am as a person, and I regret my words towards you.’

‘Yet you come here, glittering in gold and red like a whore’s ruby.’

‘I come here, glittering as I may be, as a crown prince and future king,’ Damen said, keeping his voice carefully level and not allowing Laurent to provoke him further and dispute his words. ‘I come here as myself to apologise.’

Laurent looked him up and down slowly, and Damen fought back the blush he could feel spreading on his skin under the heaviness of his gaze. ‘You apologise.’

‘I do.’

Laurent’s eyes flicked briefly to where Damen knew Lazar and Jord were in the corner, probably standing guard after Damen’s earlier unspoken threat of violence toward him. ‘I accept your apology. I will allow you to ride outside the castle on the next fine day, accompanying Jord and some others on a set of tasks. Act towards me in such a manner again and you will not see even the light of day, because no matter your status I am still above you here. Do you understand?’

‘I do,’ Damen bowed, adding softly, ‘Lord.’

Laurent took a moment before he nodded and gestured one gloved hand to the chairs. ‘Please.’

Dinner that night was just like the first night Damen had been there with Laurent steadfastly ignoring him, but instead the atmosphere felt warmer and a little more welcoming. Damen knew he’d been acting like a fool since he’d arrived, and maybe his outburst earlier and subsequent apology had cleared the air. He at least felt better, and now with the promise of a ride outside the castle walls, he was almost feeling… settled. Like whatever had been buzzing incessantly inside him since he’d arrived was finally calming.

Unlike Damen’s first night there, after the meal was finished, Laurent did not immediately stand to leave. He watched Damen as he finished his glass of wine, and steepled his fingers under his chin.

Damen set his glass down and watched him right back. The air was thick with something now, other than the lingering scents of dinner, and Laurent’s eyes were soft. Softer, Damen supposed, than it had been at any point before.

Laurent was, Damen thought, an attractive man. Maybe it was the combination of his long, golden hair and pale skin, a rarity in Akielos that Damen had a soft spot for. Maybe it was because he was snarky and talked back to him in a way that Damen never really experienced. Something about him had unwillingly captured Damen’s attention, as petulant and unattainable as he appeared.

If not for the fact that Laurent seemed unpleasant to deal with at the best of times, Damen would not have minded bedding him.

Right now, with the air around them charged as it was, Damen almost expected Laurent to proposition him.

Instead: ‘Do you know who I am?’ Laurent asked, tilting his head a little.

Damen sighed. ‘Should I?’

Laurent smiled a little and shook his head, standing to leave. ‘Goodnight, Damianos.’

‘Goodnight,’ Damen repeated, his eyes following Laurent as he left, and Jord peeled off the wall to accompany him. Damen sighed again and rolled his shoulders, standing to retire to his own rooms.

‘You’ll get to ride soon,’ Lazar said, joining him as he walked, and evidently interpreting Damen’s sigh of disappointment as more frustration. ‘The weather will break in a day or two.’

‘That is good to hear,’ Damen nodded. ‘I’ll get to checking over my horse and tack.’

‘Do that. You any good with knives?’

Damen paused on his step and turned to Lazar behind him. ‘Knives?’

‘Yes.’

‘I… yes?’

‘Bow? Spears?’

‘I am proficient in all weaponry,’ Damen said with a frown. ‘Why?’

‘Ever killed boar?’

‘Are we going boar hunting?’

Lazar grinned. ‘Maybe.’

Damen hummed and continued up the stairs. Lazar was still following him, but thankfully now quiet. Usually Damen would appreciate the company and conversation, but today he was feeling like he’d had enough of both. ‘I’m fine here, thank you.’

Lazar stopped behind him at the top of the stairs and bowed. ‘Of course. Have a good night, Highness. Exalted,’ he corrected himself, turning and not waiting for a reply before leaving.

Damen stood for a few moments, clutching at the bannister railing before he continued to his rooms. He didn’t want to want Laurent. He was essentially a prisoner here, and Laurent was the one who deemed him so. He _couldn’t_ want a man like that.

***

Damen woke up to a knock on his door. He was bleary eyed as he walked over to it, opening it only to find no one there. He yawned and rubbed a hand over his eyes, thinking through the haze of sleep that maybe he’d been the victim of a prank. He was about to close the door again, when his eyes slid down and noticed a small pile of books in front of the threshold. There was a folded piece of parchment sticking out of the top one.

Damen frowned and picked up the stack, pulling free the note.

 

> _Thought you could use something to do._

‘Oh,’ Damen said to absolutely no one. ‘That’s nice.’

He took them into his room and placed them on the small table beside the bed, before he slipped back between the covers and fell asleep within moments.

Damen had all but forgotten about the books when he got up and wandered downstairs for breakfast. He’d decided to wear his Veretian clothing today, as the chill permeating the castle ensured he’d half-freeze to death in his chiton.

Laurent was sitting at the small table in the corner with a cup of something steaming and a book in his hand, over which he watched Damen walk around to find something to eat. ‘Did you get the books?’ he asked.

Damen almost jerked in fright, not expecting Laurent to speak to him. ‘Were they from you?’

‘Who else?’

Good point. ‘Thank you.’

Laurent moved his eyes back to his book and took a sip of his drink. ‘If they are not to your taste, I can give you other ones.’

‘No, they’re fine,’ Damen said, even though he didn’t know if that was the truth. He hadn’t read the titles, so for all he knew, he could be agreeing he was interested in the art of flower arranging. Or taxidermy. ‘Thank you.’

Laurent pursed his lips, evidently holding back from speaking more. It seemed he had low self-restraint when it came to books, because he added, ‘I have a library if you would like to select a book or two to read.’

Damen blinked, a small smile making its way over his face. ‘I’d like that.’

Laurent nodded. ‘There’s fresh bread next to the fruit bowl, if you want it. I’ll take you later when you return.’

‘Return?’ Damen asked, searching for a knife to cut some bread and eventually giving up in favour of just tearing off a chunk, much to Laurent’s apparent disapproval. ‘From where?’

‘The rain has let up,’ Laurent shrugged. ‘Jord and the others will take you to ride as soon as you’re ready.’

Damen groaned, grabbing an apple as he shoved most of the bread in his mouth. ‘Why did no one wake me?’ he asked through the bread.

‘I would have told you, had you opened your door when I delivered the books.’

‘Mhmm,’ Damen narrowed his eyes and left the kitchen for the stables, eating as quickly as he could.

When he arrived in the courtyard, Jord and Lazar were already there with saddled horses, adding things to their packs. ‘Morning!’ Jord greeted. ‘We can wait for you to get ready. I’ve already checked over your horse and he seems to be in perfect condition. Figured you would want to saddle him yourself, though.’

Damen nodded and headed to the stables, going down to Bucephalus’ stall and handing him the apple core as he double-checked him over for anything that could hinder him in any way. Not that Damen expected as much. He checked over his tack, and efficiently saddled Bucephalus, leading him from the stall to the courtyard.

‘Hold him for me,’ Damen said, giving the reins to Jord. ‘I have a few things to retrieve from my chambers.’

‘Of course.’

When Damen returned, coat on and weapons attached, he overheard Jord and Lazar talking to Bucephalus.

(‘What a pretty boy you are!’ Jord said, giving him a sugar cube.

‘Such a handsome man,’ Lazar agreed, stroking his nose gently.)

‘He doesn’t speak Veretian,’ Damen said loudly, smiling as he approached them. ‘Would you like me to translate?’

The two of them looked utterly uncaring about having been overheard, and Jord handed back the reins with a grin. ‘I’m sure you tell him often.’

‘I do,’ Damen said, switching to Akielon to speak to Bucephalus. ‘You know how pretty you are, don’t you?’

Bucephalus tossed his head and nudged Damen’s hand for a treat, as he pawed at the ground.

Jord held out another sugar cube for him and smiled. ‘You told him, didn’t you?’

‘I did. He knows.’

‘Are you idiots ready to go?’ Orlant called, already waiting on his horse. ‘Sanglier wait for no man.’

Damen swung into the saddle and relaxed his grip on Bucephalus’ reins. ‘I’m ready when you are.’

‘Wait!’ Laurent called, striding from the castle. ‘I need your word you’ll return.’

‘Me?’ Damen asked.

‘Yes, Damianos, you. You’re the one so desperate to leave, and if I allow it, you go with the express intention to return.’

Damen tried to play it off like there hadn’t been a small, yet persistent voice in his head churning out ideas. ‘You think I won’t?’

‘I don’t like that tone,’ Laurent said, narrowing his eyes. ‘If you have no intention to return, I will not allow you to pass beyond the gates.

The tentative plan that had been blossoming in Damen’s mind, maybe to take his horse and run as fast as he could towards the coast, was cut off. He thought he could probably find his way. Maybe even manage to live off the land for a few days. ‘Of course,’ he said, his voice not belying any of this. ‘You have my word I will return.’

‘Good,’ Laurent nodded. ‘Then go. If you can’t find any sanglier, chamois will do.’

‘We’ll bring back a boar,’ Lazar said, nudging Jord beside him, ‘or die trying.’


	5. Philia

By the end of it, Damen didn’t remember much of being outside the castle walls. He remembered the feel of the wind in his hair, of Bucephalus galloping across the short distance between the castle and the mountains and forest, the smell of the air after the heavy fall of rain. All that, he supposed, could have just been old memories, filling the gaps where his own had failed.

He remembered going into the forests, slowing his horse and following Lazar and Orlant as they looked carefully for signs of sanglier. He remembered them finding tracks and getting off their horses to walk gently through the trees and make their way towards the boar.

The one thing Damen was sure he hadn’t filled in from other memories was the sanglier itself. It was a huge, ugly thing, covered in bristly hair that made it look even bigger than it was, and had curled tusks that looked like straight, they could be the length of Damen’s forearm.

It seemed not to have noticed them at first, and Damen remembered thinking he should get off his horse and change that. Bucephalus stayed where Damen left him, as he crept forward with Lazar and Orlant, Jord staying behind with the other horses.

Maybe it was just bad luck, maybe it was more than that, but the last thing Damen remembered for sure from his excursion to the forest was the smell of the sanglier, like dirt and damp and blood as it charged right at him.

Then again, maybe the blood wasn’t the sanglier.

***

Laurent was utterly pleased when he saw Orlant ride in with a sanglier, a good, meaty looking thing. His mouth almost started watering at the thought of what they would be having for dinner, with it being far too long since their last hunt.

His good mood crashed almost as fast as it had appeared when Jord and Lazar rode in behind him even faster, a bleeding Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos clinging to his horse between theirs.

Laurent couldn’t even tell where the blood was coming from, but Paschal, who had thankfully gone with them to replenish his store of herbs, had also taken his medical kit and patched Damianos up as much as he could.

That led to Laurent’s next thought – _I can’t afford a war with Akielos over their dead heir._

‘What happened?’ he demanded, approaching but making no move to help. He couldn’t risk that.

‘Sanglier charged,’ Jord said, helping Damen down from the horse. He seemed barely conscious, babbling a little incoherently in Akielon. ‘Gored him in the side. Maybe the leg, too.’

‘We said we _weren’t_ going to kill him!’ Laurent said, following them to Paschal’s small surgery.

They laid Damianos on the table and Paschal immediately got to work with cutting open his shirt with blunt shears and cleaning the wound. It was messy, with jagged edges that would be a bitch to heal, but not as deep as the amount of blood would suggest.

Paschal handed the shears to Jord with a short, ‘Cut them.’

Jord cut swiftly down the leg of Damianos’ pants, revealing the second source of blood. Barely a graze compared to the other one. ‘Start with the abdomen,’ he said, beginning to clean the second wound and check it for any debris that could inflame it.

Damianos’ eyes flew open at the first touch of alcohol to his wounds. He said something in Akielon, but all Laurent picked up was the familiar word for _mother_. The second half of that word sounded familiar too, but Laurent wasn’t totally confident in his translation. He’d have to ask later.

‘Damianos,’ Paschal said, loudly and clearly. ‘Can you hear me?’

Damianos turned his head towards Paschal, before his eyes rolled back into his head.

‘That’s not a good sign,’ Jord said, sending an uncertain look towards Paschal.

Laurent narrowed his eyes at Jord. ‘That better be the best fucking sanglier I’ll ever have in my life,’ he said, stalking out of the room and leaving them to it.

***

By the time Jord found him a few hours later outside the stables, Laurent had carefully cleaned the blood off Damianos’ horse, as well as brushed out his coat and cleared mud from his hooves. Laurent was slowly braiding his mane, now, and was finding him an even better horse than he’d initially thought from watching him and his master interact.

‘He’s okay,’ Jord said, watching him twine the strands of hair in a complicated fashion. ‘Lost some blood and I think he’ll be hurting for a few weeks, but the wounds are clean and stitched, so with any luck, he will wake in the next few hours. I’ll have broth made for him for when he does so.’

Laurent nodded. ‘Is the sanglier being butchered?’

‘As we speak.’

‘Keep the tusks,’ Laurent said, focusing intently on the horse’s mane. ‘Have them cleaned and brought to my chambers.’

‘Sure,’ Jord nodded, watching him and the horse. ‘He only understands Akielon.’

‘What?’

‘The horse. He doesn’t speak Veretian.’

Laurent hummed thoughtfully, stroking a hand down his nose and switching to his limited Akielon. ‘We are friends still.’

The horse nudged his pocket and Laurent smiled, bringing out the sugar cube there.

‘He’s smart,’ he said, going back to Veretian. ‘Any compliment comes with treats.’

‘I wish it worked like that for me.’

‘Maybe if you hadn’t allowed the Crown Prince of Akielos to be on the end of a boar, it would.’

Jord sighed. ‘Yeah, I deserve that.’

Laurent finished the braid, tying it off before he turned to reply. ‘Jord, you understand I am a prince, yes?’

‘Yes, Highness.’

‘You understand that Damianos is also a prince.’

‘I do, Lord, yes.’

Laurent tugged a little on his gloves. ‘You realise that a crown prince of a foreign country was harmed under your watch, no matter how it happened, and should he have died – or still, die – then that would be more than enough means for war?’

‘Yes, Highness,’ Jord said, folding his hands behind his back and standing as he’d been taught to when being reprimanded by someone of higher rank. ‘I take full responsibility for what happened with the prince, despite it being a wild animal.’

‘Now is not the time to play on our friendship,’ Laurent snapped. ‘He could’ve died, Jord.’

‘I know.’

‘Why was he even in the line of attack? Would you put _me_ there?’

‘Well, Lord, if it was you, the sanglier would –’

‘Jord!’ Laurent interrupted. ‘I know the hunt is exciting, I know it is typically enjoyed by people of mine and Damianos’ rank, and I know that he’s most likely very good at killing things. I also know that sanglier are unpredictable and _dangerous_. Why was it not killed before it reached him?’

‘We were too far from him,’ Jord said, shifting his weight a little. ‘I was behind with the horses, and the others were too spread out. It is not an excuse, but it should not have happened.’

‘You’re right, it shouldn’t,’ Laurent agreed. ‘And yet.’

Jord let out a level breath. ‘I know.’

Laurent pulled off a glove, ignoring the way Jord’s eyes widened, before he rubbed his face tiredly. ‘I was expecting it to be me who tried to kill him.’

‘That would definitely be cause for war,’ Jord said, relaxing as he understood the formal part of this interaction was over, ‘so I’m glad it wasn’t.’

‘He’ll be okay, though,’ Laurent said, half to himself.

‘Yes, Highness,’ Jord reassured him. ‘He’ll be fine.’

***

‘You know,’ Lazar’s voice drifted through the fog of Damen’s mind, ‘when I said we’d get a sanglier or die trying, it wasn’t a challenge.’

Damen tried to crack a smile. ‘Wasn’t it?’ he asked, opening an eye to look at the people gathered around his bed.

‘Absolutely not,’ Laurent said.

Damen chuckled, adjusting himself and wincing at the pinch in his side. ‘How bad is it?’

‘Twenty stitches in the side, five in the leg,’ a new voice provided. ‘Exalted, I am pleased to see you awake.’

Damen managed to open both eyes and look at the owner of the voice. ‘You are?’

The man – older, greying, laugh lines around his eyes – smiled a little. ‘Paschal. The physician, Exalted.’

‘Oh,’ Damen said. ‘Thanks for patching me up.’

‘Thank you for being unconscious and making my job easier,’ Paschal said, giving a little bow. ‘I will come back when you’re properly awake to instruct you on care.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Damen said, waving a hand as he left. ‘How long have I been out?’

‘A few hours,’ Lazar said. ‘Your horse is cleaned, so is your tack.’

‘Thank you.’

Lazar and Jord, who had been standing silently in the corner, looked to Laurent, who nodded slightly for them to leave.

‘You know,’ Laurent said quietly, settling in the chair beside Damen’s bed. ‘If you did not want to go to my library, you could have just said so. This seems awfully drastic.’

Damen grinned. ‘What can I say? I did not want to disappoint you.’

Laurent hummed thoughtfully and pulled a leg up onto his chair. ‘I have a favour to ask.’

‘A favour?’ That brought Damen closer to full consciousness.

‘There are some books in the library written in Akielon,’ Laurent explained. ‘I want… Would you teach it to me?’

‘Akielon?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

Laurent shrugged a little too forcefully for it to come off as casual. ‘I live on the border. It might be useful one day.’

‘Is that the only reason?’ Damen asked, turning his head fully to watch him.

Laurent frowned, concentrating as he spoke slowly in Akielon. ‘Some things should be secret.’

‘You want to have secrets with me?’ Damen asked in the same.

‘No,’ Laurent paused, searching for a word. ‘I should have secrets.’

Damen studied him, the arrangement of his features that conveyed nothing at all. ‘I will help you.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurent gave him a small smile, switching back to Veretian. ‘May I ask – what was that word you said earlier?’

‘What one?’

Laurent carefully repeated it, frowning when Damen laughed, clutching his side when his stitches pulled. ‘What?’ Laurent asked. ‘What does it mean? I understand _mother_ in there, yes?’

‘Yes,’ Damen grinned. ‘It means motherfucker.’

***

They struck up a very tentative friendship from there. Laurent was still very much a bitch, snarky and rude when he wanted to be, but while Damen taught him Akielon, he listened closely and was able to pick up words and phrases easily. His accent couldn’t be helped, but he was getting better every day and Damen made sure to tell him as much, making Laurent preen under his praise.

As soon as Damen could move easily, their lessons left his bedside and entered the library. It was small, but bigger than Damen expected, given the relative size of the castle. There were a couple of tables and large chairs, a roaring fire, and too many books for that fire to seem like a good idea.

Here, Laurent almost became a different person. He relaxed in the chairs, curling into himself and reading the Akielon confidently out loud, looking to Damen for approval and help with words he hadn’t come across yet. For the most part, Damen found Laurent to be motivated and needing less help than he thought he did. Damen told him as much, but Laurent insisted he help anyway.

As the days passed, Laurent began picking books with a distinct theme. There were a surprising number of books to do with military tactics and general law, but Damen helped him read them anyway, figuring maybe it was just a personal interest. At the time, he didn’t realise what was happening.

Either way, it became part of Damen’s new routine to help Laurent with Akielon in place of his time in the training area, and if Laurent was busy doing something else, he would chat with Jord or Lazar. Orlant wasn’t much one for talking, it seemed, but Damen found Jord and Lazar to be plenty entertaining.

‘I’ve noticed something,’ Damen said, looking down to the cards in his hand. ‘Laurent wears gloves a lot.’

In his peripheral vision, Damen saw the pair of them exchange a glance.

‘Yeah, he likes to have clean hands,’ Lazar said, slapping down a card on the table. Damen had forgotten what they were playing.

‘He wears them while he eats,’ Damen added. ‘I have never seen him touch another person, or anyone touch him.’

‘He is… pedantic.’

‘He thinks he’s cursed,’ Jord said softly, facing his cards down on the table – maybe that meant he was going to have a real conversation.

It had been bugging Damen for a while. It might’ve been because he’d been spending more time around Laurent that he’d realised exactly how much of it he spent wearing gloves and avoiding human contact. He never handed books to Damen, always placed them on the table and pushed it towards him, or placed it next to his hand, he always moved away when Damen came closer or leaned over him to point at something on a page.

‘Cursed?’ he asked. ‘How so?’

Jord sighed. ‘When Laurent was a child, his best friend… died. Laurent blames himself.’

‘Surely it was not his fault,’ Damen frowned.

‘He thinks that everyone he touches will die, or everything will turn to shit,’ Lazar said. ‘He blames himself for his friend’s death, I think because he was too young to understand what happened.’

‘It’s a sensitive topic,’ Jord added. ‘Do not bring it up with him.’

And that was the end of the conversation.

***

Paschal kept a close eye on how Damen was healing, and a couple of weeks after the incident with the sanglier, he conceded to Damen’s request that he be allowed to resume light training, provided he stopped immediately if the stitches hurt or started bleeding.

Damen’s chiton was a welcome change to the Veretian sleeping clothes he’d spent the last two weeks in, even if it did show off the shiny pink scar he now had on his leg and had a tendency to slip away a little from his side to show the angry red one there.

He was up earlier than usual today, having been told the day before by Paschal that he could pick up his training again. He hadn’t seen Laurent anywhere, assuming him still to be sleeping, and headed to the training room with his sword.

As Damen got closer, he heard grunts coming from the training area. He paused, thinking maybe he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have, but then he heard the same noise with a series of thumps that came from someone punching the bag in the corner, so he continued.

‘Laurent,’ he said in surprise.

Laurent spun to face him, a looser braid than Damen had ever seen on him swinging wildly as he did. ‘Damianos. You’re awake early.’

‘Paschal gave me clearance yesterday to restart training,’ Damen explained. ‘I’m just here to test out how it goes with my new war wounds.’

Laurent’s hands relaxed at his sides. ‘I can leave if –’

‘No, please, stay. Do you want to spar a bit?’

Laurent shook his head. ‘I do not fight people. We’ve been over this, remember?’

‘Vaguely,’ Damen said, waving his hand. ‘Was that before or after the sanglier?’

Laurent raised an eyebrow. ‘If you think you’re funny, you are wrong.’

‘Okay, we don’t have to spar, but do you want to practice some moves, at least?’

‘I already have,’ Laurent said, heading to where a sword was propped against the wall.

It caught Damen’s attention, with the gold workings in the hilt and centre of the blade. ‘May I?’ Damen asked, nodding towards it. He knew some people were very particular about their swords, and if Laurent was… _pedantic_ about keeping things clean, he might not want Damen to touch it at all.

Laurent collected it silently and handed it across, watching how Damen felt the weight of it and inspected the filigree.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Damen murmured, admiring what seemed to be tiny golden flowers and vines within the filigree. A weapon like that would be expensive to say the least.

‘It belonged to someone close to me,’ Laurent said, taking it back when Damen offered, and slipping it into the scabbard at his hip. ‘My best friend.’

‘Jord said –’ Damen stopped himself. Jord had also said _do not bring it up_.

‘What did Jord say?’ Laurent asked lightly. A command, not a question.

‘He said your friend died,’ Damen said, watching Laurent closely. ‘That you blamed yourself.’

‘Was that all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ Laurent nodded. ‘I will be going for a ride later today, should you wish to join me.’

‘By yourself?’ Damen asked, playing along with the abrupt change of topic. He’d already slipped up, so he wasn’t about to push it.

‘Of course not, Jord will accompany.’

Damen found himself nodding. ‘I would love to. Where are we going?’

‘Not to find another sanglier, if that is what you’re worried about,’ Laurent said, giving him a wry smile. ‘Maybe we’ll come across a chamois or two, but I think you will be okay against that.’

‘Don’t know,’ Damen said, twirling his sword a little. ‘Haven’t tested out the stitches yet.’

Laurent saw past the suggestion it was. ‘Better do that, then. I will see you at breakfast.’

‘See you at breakfast,’ Damen echoed, watching him leave.

Laurent didn’t turn as he left, feeling Damianos’ eyes on him. Once he reached the other side of the door, far enough that he knew Damianos wouldn’t be able to see him, he stopped and turned around to watch him practice.

He’d seen the fight with Lazar those weeks ago where Damianos had been ruthless with his sword, his moves efficient as he went about winning. Even now in practice, Laurent could see the effort he put into it, fighting through the ache of his stitches and working around them to remain as deadly as he appeared with less effort. Laurent could see how his training had ended with becoming the fighter he was.

Laurent wanted to spar with him.

Maybe he also wanted… more than that.

Laurent could’ve stayed there for hours watching the flex of Damen’s muscles and the way his chiton danced over his skin. When Jord, Orlant, and Lazar turned up, stopping next to him outside the door, he knew he’d spent enough time doing so already.

He turned on his heel to leave, shooting them a dangerous glance and muttered, ‘Not a word of this.’

***

Laurent was already in the stables when Damen got there just after lunch, brushing the tall black stallion a few stalls over from Bucephalus. He was whispering softly to him while braiding the horse’s mane, and Damen figured he’d leave him to it.

He hadn’t been able to come down to the stables much since the incident with the sanglier and had sorely missed his own horse.

‘Hello, my friend,’ Damen greeted in Akielon, swinging open the stall and stroking down Bucephalus’ nose before handing him a sugar cube. ‘We’re going outside today.’

Damen left the stall open as he began strapping on the tack, consuming himself in the ritual and talking lowly to the horse.

‘Do you like the braid?’ Laurent asked, appearing at Damen’s shoulder and frightening him out of his own little world.

‘I do,’ Damen said, once he’d recovered. ‘Your work?’

Laurent nodded. ‘He’s a very well-behaved horse, isn’t he? Stays still, doesn’t wander. You must have spent much time training him.’

‘He picked it up fast. He was a gift from my father a few years ago when relations with Vere started getting… rocky. He thought I needed a horse bred for battle.’

‘I used to…’ Laurent paused, a small frown creasing his brow. ‘I lived in Arles when I was younger. Even back then, things were not exactly good.’

‘And it will get worse before it gets better,’ Damen shook his head, following Laurent and his armful of tack to the black stallion. ‘The King does not have an heir, so should he die in whatever is going on up there, more people could die trying to take his place.’

Laurent was quiet, laying a mat over his horse’s back for the saddle to go over. ‘I do not care if he dies.’

‘Strong feelings for a man you have never met.’

‘I know what he did,’ Laurent said, tightening the buckles of the saddle. ‘He deserves whatever comes for him.’

‘That sounds a little like treason,’ Damen teased.

‘I’m not –’ Laurent stopped and smiled a little. ‘This – Acquitart – is a separate principality. Besides, who’s going to tell him I said that?’

‘Not me.’

‘Exactly,’ Laurent said, finishing the rest of his tack and turning towards Damen. His face was soft and happy, and for a moment he looked so young it took Damen a little aback. He flicked his eyes to Damen’s lips, where they lingered just a moment longer than they probably should’ve, before he dragged them back up Damen’s face. ‘We should…’

‘Wait,’ Damen said softly, stepping towards Laurent, getting closer in his space than Damen thought he would allow, given his constant shifting away from people. Laurent just looked up to him, gaze gentle, holding his breath as he let Damen lightly trail his hand up and over his arm. His fingers stopped just short of the tightly laced collar of Laurent’s riding jacket, feeling the small shiver that ran over him. ‘Can I kiss you?’

Laurent closed his eyes, his lips parting slightly, before he took a step backwards. ‘No,’ he whispered, taking Damen’s hand with the smallest touch. ‘I’m sorry.’

Damen bent a little, gracing his lips over the top of Laurent’s glove instead. ‘It is no matter,’ he said, letting go of him. ‘Are you ready to leave?’

‘Yes,’ Laurent smiled, taking the reins to his horse. ‘I will meet you outside.’

‘Okay,’ Damen agreed, watching as Laurent stopped at another stall to lead out a second horse, which he assumed was for Jord. Damen went back to Bucephalus, double checking his tack quickly and leading him out to the courtyard also.

Jord and Laurent were mounted when Damen got out, and Jord raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Laurent as he mounted next to them. Laurent shrugged, and Jord accepted it.

‘Ready?’ Jord asked. At Damen and Laurent’s nods, he signalled for the gate to open, and they were off.

The ride was exhilarating, as they galloped across open land, heading towards the mountains and paths that apparently wound through the base forest. Damen hadn’t noticed them there during the hunt, but he remembered very little of the hunt, so he supposed that wasn’t exactly surprising.

They both rode expertly, but Damen kept his eyes on Laurent. He moved fluidly with his horse, and it was like they were of the same mind, the way his horse responded to the slightest movements and noises Laurent made. He’d earlier commented that Damen must have trained Bucephalus well, but his horse was conditioned to respond much the same.

Arriving back at the castle – apparently named Acquitart – they were all tired but buzzing with adrenaline from the rush of air. Laurent was in a better mood than Damen had probably ever seen him, even if he was covered in dust and dirt, and was cracking jokes the entire time as they removed their horses’ tack.

‘The staff will have drawn a bath already, if you wish to use it,’ Laurent said, as they left the stables together.

‘Or,’ Damen said, switching to Akielon, ‘you could join me.’

‘No, that’s –’ Laurent stopped, going a little rigid next to him. ‘I would prefer to bathe alone.’

Damen nodded. ‘I will let you go first,’ he said. ‘There’s some mud on your nose.’

Laurent blushed a little, automatically reaching up to touch it. ‘Thank you. Someone will find you when there is another drawn for you.’

‘Okay,’ Damen said, stopping as they reached the doors to the baths. He bowed, taking Laurent’s hand and running his thumb over his gloved knuckles. ‘I will see you at dinner.’

Laurent pursed his lips to hide a smile, drawing his hand back as he slipped into the baths without a word.

Damen went back to his chambers, feeling lighter than a feather after his (successful) excursion from the castle, and his interactions with Laurent. He was gathering his soaps and fresh clothing to take down to the baths later when it occurred to him what was happening.

He _liked_ Laurent.

Usually he would just go after someone he was attracted to like this, bed them, and it would be over, but Damen didn’t think that was an option here, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to be, either.

***

‘The baths are ready for you, Exalted,’ Jord announced, sticking his head into Damen’s chambers. ‘Lord Laurent apologises for the delay.’

‘It’s fine,’ Damen marked his place in his book – a collection of traditional Veretian stories recommended by Laurent – and stood to head for the baths. ‘Dinner?’

‘An hour or so away.’

‘Perfect,’ Damen said, gathering his things and leaving moments after Jord.

The air in the baths was thick with the lingering scent of Laurent’s purple soap. He seemed particularly fond of it, and it was no wonder when Damen glanced at the bottles, he saw it nearly empty. Damen wasted no time in stripping from his dusty riding clothes and washing himself with the bowls of water, before putting a little of his Akielon soap from Nik into the water of the bath, along with some of the plain salts, which he had since discovered were sourced by Paschal.

The water was comforting as he slid into it and shut his eyes, enjoying the way the steam curled around him and how the smell of his soap from home mingled with Laurent’s. It seemed right, how it did that, and the thought of Laurent made warmth bloom in Damen’s stomach.

He tried not to think of how Laurent had been in here so recently, and so naked.

He fought it until there was a knock on the door and Lazar announcing ten minutes to dinner.

Damen reluctantly left the water to dry and dress, diligently ignoring the persistent voice in his head saying how much it wanted to share a bath like this with Laurent.


	6. Lethe

Damen left dinner that night feeling happier than he had in weeks. Laurent spent much of it shooting soft little looks his way, and they spoke in hushed tones of nothing in particular, while the wine filled Damen with warmth and contentedness. Laurent even dismissed the guards and allowed Damen to walk him to his chambers.

‘Here we are,’ Damen announced, a beat too late for it to be anything less than an offer and suggestion.

Laurent turned to face him, his cheeks a little blushed. Not from wine, Laurent didn’t drink it, but maybe from the fire, or even Damen himself. ‘Thank you for accompanying me today,’ he said quietly. ‘I hope the ride did not strain your stitches too much.’

‘No, they’re fine,’ Damen smiled. ‘Thank you for taking me.’

‘I thought I owed you a ride, after the last one went so well.’

Damen laughed, shaking his head. ‘That was not anyone’s fault.’

‘Still,’ Laurent said, ‘I wanted to at least give you a better memory of the Veretian forest than ambushes and boar attacks.’

‘You certainly did that. Maybe next time we can leave Jord at home.’

Laurent bit his lip, eyes flicking to Damen’s lips and down to where their hands were a whisper apart. ‘We will see.’

Damen read that to be dismissive and took a step back to bow his head, reaching to gently take Laurent’s hand, once again kissing the top of his glove. ‘Goodnight, Laurent.’

‘Goodnight, Damianos.’

Damen lingered for a moment, before he decided to turn and leave. He was almost at the end of the corridor when Laurent called out to him.

‘Why do you do that?’ he asked.

‘Do what?’

Laurent flexed his fingers at his sides, then replied, ‘You kiss my hand. Why?’

Damen shrugged. ‘It feels right. Is that okay?’ At Laurent’s small nod, Damen turned back and continued to his own chambers.

As he settled into bed, the answer to Laurent’s question came to mind – it was something ingrained into Damen to do for those he wished to court.

***

Laurent was in the training room practising his swordcraft the next morning when Damianos appeared in the room behind him.

‘Good morning,’ he greeted, leaning against the wall to watch Laurent go through his own paces.

‘Sleep well?’ Laurent asked, finishing his set of moves and going to set his sword down against the wall.

‘Very. You?’

Laurent shrugged. ‘No worse than usual.’

‘That is… something,’ Damianos agreed. ‘Did you want me to leave?’

‘No, you can have the floor. I’m heading to do some exercises over there.’

‘Sure,’ Damianos said, heading to the centre of the room and stopping just before lifting his sword. ‘Spar?’

Laurent rolled his eyes good naturedly. ‘No.’

‘Just wanted to offer.’

‘I know,’ Laurent said. He watched Damianos run through his drills, practice steps and moves, twisting and turning across the sandy floor of the training room.

Maybe Laurent’s resolve was a little weak after the revelation of the last few days, and the way he and Damianos were acting towards each other, but before he knew it, he had silently gone to pick up his sword, and was joining Damianos in his fight against the air.

Their swords collided with a sharp _clang!_ that startled Damianos when he appeared to realise he’d struck something else.

His eyes sparkled as he kept pressure against Laurent’s sword with his own, turning them slowly. ‘What happened to _“I don’t fight people”_ I wonder?’

‘Maybe I need some live meat,’ Laurent replied, a feral grin stretching his face to match that of Damianos. ‘Are we going to move, or are you scared?’

‘Why would I be scared of you?’ Damianos taunted, pushing against Laurent’s sword and moving them apart. ‘You’re just one man.’

‘Maybe so,’ Laurent said, taking a step forward and rolling under Damianos’ thrust, swinging his sword and tapping it against his calves with the flat of the blade. ‘One point for me?’

‘That was rude,’ Damianos said, spinning quickly and hitting it away.

They built up a pattern of thrusts and parries, spins and sidesteps, almost like they were dancing. It had been too long since Laurent had done this with another person, and he had almost forgotten what it was like to have his sword meet something other than empty air.

Something about Damianos made him feel almost safe, how he wasn’t afraid to touch him and didn’t push Laurent more than he somehow knew was appropriate. The first time they had met, back when Laurent was still an official Prince of Vere and much younger than he was now, Damianos had taken him under his wing, showing him the horses, finding him dogs and kittens to pet. He’d given Laurent a small bouquet of flowers snapped off bushes and it had stayed in Laurent’s room at Arles until the day he left. He’d wondered if maybe one day they might meet again, if maybe Damianos might be a friend, or even more than that.

Now, here they were. Laurent was all but broken by the events of the last decade of his life, and Damianos had dropped back in when Laurent was at the point he needed someone else to take the edge off. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was –

Laurent gasped as he missed a step and found himself against the wall with Damianos’ blade at his throat.

‘I thought you were good at this?’ he murmured, looking down to Laurent, eyes flicking to his lips. He raised an eyebrow, distracted enough for Laurent to quickly pull his leg around Damianos’ ankle and push him backwards. His smile dropped as his ass hit the sandy floor, while Laurent danced away.

‘Who says I’m not?’ Laurent asked.

Damianos growled, rolling to his knees then feet, twirling his sword as he approached, thrusting and parrying Laurent’s own attacks. ‘Maybe me,’ he said.

Laurent thought he had the upper hand, and he might’ve, for however brief of a moment. Everything came crashing down when Damianos tried a different tactic, grabbing Laurent’s hand and spinning him in close, instead of going for his sword again. And that was – too close.

‘No,’ Laurent said, pushing back and even dropping his sword to use both hands for leverage. ‘No, no no.’ Damianos was _too close_ , his face less than an inch from Laurent’s, even if it had been unintentional.

Damianos let go immediately, taking a step back as he dropped his own sword and raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture, like he was working with a horse. ‘I am sorry, are you okay?’

‘I’m – _no_ , I can’t,’ Laurent said, stepping further back, before he eventually turned and broke into a run. He needed to get away from Damianos. He couldn’t do that again, he wouldn’t be responsible for another death, even if it meant he had to watch Damianos’ heart break before his very eyes as he put as much distance between them as he possibly could.

***

Damen didn’t know what he’d done. One minute, he and Laurent were practice fighting, maybe with a little bit of tension in the air, and the next, Laurent was sprinting away from him like he couldn’t stand the sight of him. He’d even left behind his prized sword, deposited so carelessly in the dishevelled sand.

Damen picked up both it and his own sword, sheathing his and entirely unsure what to do with Laurent’s.

‘Damianos, Exalted,’ Jord greeted, as he stepped into the training area. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘I do not know,’ Damen frowned, looking from the sword in his hand to Jord. ‘Did you see Laurent?’

‘I did. He told me you were in here.’

‘I should bring him his sword –’

‘No,’ Jord interrupted. ‘It is best to let him be for the moment. Have you eaten?’

‘Not yet.’

Jord waved towards the door. ‘Come with me. I think we need to talk.’

Damen nodded. He didn’t know what Jord meant, but if it was any insight as to why Laurent had run away like that, then he was more than happy to listen. They walked silently through the halls towards the kitchens to pick up some food and left to eat it in the informal dining room.

For the time of day, there was no one in there, and Damen wondered if that was by design.

‘Lord Laurent told me what happened,’ Jord explained, as he watched Damen pick at the bread and fruit on his plate. ‘I’m sure you have questions.’

‘I do,’ Damen said, carefully picking the delicate sections off a blackberry. ‘First, tell me if he is okay.’

‘He will be fine,’ Jord assured him. ‘I have been… _authorised_ to tell you anything within reason.’

‘Within reason.’

‘Yes. There are some things he wishes to keep to himself.’

Damen sighed, turning the blackberry and lining up the pieces he’d already removed. ‘Why did he react like that? He ran away because I got too close?’

‘Yes and no,’ Jord said, sipping the drink he’d brought back from the kitchen. ‘He needs space, but not for the reasons you think.’

‘What are these reasons you think I think?’

‘What we have led you to believe.’ Jord folded his arms in front of his chest as he leaned on the table. ‘Lord Laurent is not particular with cleanliness, and he does not wear gloves for that reason.’

‘Why, then?’

‘He…’ Jord trailed off, looking around the room for something he didn’t find. ‘He has a… gift. A curse, rather. People that touch his skin, anything that carries warmth, life, it dies.’

‘How is that a gift?’ Damen asked, not even sure if he believed that. ‘Death is not a gift.’

‘They do not just die,’ Jord explained. ‘The item – person – turns into gold.’

‘Gold?’

‘Gold. He wasn’t running from you because you got too close in his space, he ran because he did not want to be responsible for your death, as well as –’ Jord stopped abruptly. ‘Well. His best friend.’

Damen let go of a breath and pushed his plate away. ‘He turned his friend into gold.’

‘Yes.’

‘If I asked you where Laurent was, would you tell me?’

Jord hesitated for a moment. ‘Stables.’

Damen nodded, picking up the sword from where it was leaning against the wall, and making his way to the stables as fast as he could, cutting through the back entrance.

Damen followed the sound of brushing to find Laurent in the stall of the black stallion, brushing him slowly, rhythmically.

‘I do not blame you,’ Damen blurted. The brushing stopped. It hadn’t been what Damen wanted to say, but it was true all the same. He wouldn’t want to risk turning people to gold, either.

‘You talked to Jord,’ Laurent said.

‘He told me about your… gift.’

‘It’s not a _gift_ ,’ Laurent spat the word like a curse. ‘You know what I did.’

Damen nodded. ‘Jord said you turned your friend into gold.’

‘Do you believe it?’

‘I do not know. I believe anything I can see with my own eyes.’

Laurent stopped brushing and went outside for a moment. He came back with a fresh, green leaf in his hand and put it on the edge of the horse’s stall while he removed a glove.

Damen was expecting some sort of sign on his hand, but it was just pale, unmarked flesh.

Laurent took a breath and touched a fingertip lightly to the leaf. From that point, Damen watched as gold spiderwebbed across the leaf, encasing it completely. Laurent picked it up and tapped it against the stall. It didn’t move. ‘There,’ he said, his voice blank. ‘With your own eyes.’

‘Can I…’

‘Touch it? Yes. It will not do anything to you,’ Laurent muttered, slipping his glove back on.

Damen reached cautiously to the leaf, feeling it cold beneath his skin. He turned it around and inspected it for any holes left in the gold, but there was nothing. ‘I am sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘Your friend,’ Damen said quietly. ‘That cannot have been easy on you.’

‘It wasn’t.’ Laurent sighed, picking the brush up again and going back to the horse, before speaking in a level voice. ‘I used to live in Arles with my family – my best friend. When the curse first appeared, it was only things like flowers, leaves, the occasional bug I happened to touch. My parents died when I was young, and the trauma… did something. It made this _gift_ worse. The first person I went to was my best friend, and as soon as I touched him, he was gone too.’

Damen reached out on instinct to comfort Laurent, and tried not to be offended when he moved out of reach. ‘I do not know what to say.’

Laurent acted like he hadn’t even spoken, continuing with his tale and horse grooming. ‘The statue he became now decorates the halls of the King of Vere. I left Arles with Jord and some others and I have been here ever since.’

‘Ten years.’

‘Ten years,’ Laurent confirmed, finally looking up to Damen. ‘You see why I could not risk you even brushing my skin?’

‘I do, and it is okay,’ Damen said softly. ‘I wish there was something I could do.’

‘There is nothing anyone can do. I’m a monster.’

‘I do not think you are.’

‘I _killed_ him. He was always there for me, giving me everything I ever needed, and I took the one thing he could not do without,’ Laurent said, stopping what he was doing to push the gloved heels of his hands into his eyes. ‘He was all I had, the last of – he was my best friend. My brother.’

‘That does not make you a monster. You could not have known.’

‘I could have realised what was happening to me. I should not have gone to him like I did, and now everything is falling apart and it’s my fault.’

‘Laurent, you were a child. It’s not your fault.’

‘He was _strong_ , he could have fixed this.’

Damen held out the sword, hilt first, as a crazy idea came to him. ‘I will retrieve your friend for you, if you want me to.’

Laurent blinked. ‘You cannot do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘You would go to Arles for a golden statue? Which you would need to steal from the King of Vere?’

‘Laurent, if I cannot touch you, cannot do anything else for you, maybe I can bring you comfort and your friend.’

‘I cannot let you do that.’

‘You cannot stop me, either,’ Damen said, offering him the sword again. ‘I give you my word that I will return.’

‘I do not want to risk it.’

‘Risk what? The King of Vere has never met me. I’ll sneak in and sneak back out.’

‘It is a _palace_. You cannot sneak in and out.’

‘I was raised in a palace, believe me, I have plenty of practice.’

Laurent took the sword, finally – Damen’s arm was beginning to hurt – and slipped it into the scabbard. ‘I do not want to say yes, but I will consider it.’

***

‘I’m not going,’ Jord said, pacing Laurent’s chambers with his arms folded. ‘No. I refuse to accompany Damianos to Arles and get him for you.’

‘Jord, I don’t –’

‘Laurent,’ Jord interrupted, ignoring the glare he received. ‘I know you miss him, but sending us on a suicide mission with a prince that thinks he’s invincible will get us all killed. You cannot bring him back, and besides – how are we going to _steal_ a statue of gold from the palace?’

‘Damianos will have a plan,’ Laurent said quietly. ‘I know it’s a risky idea, but what if I _can_ bring him back? What if I learn to reverse what I do?’

‘Have you ever achieved that?’

‘No, but I have not tried, either. If you go with him, I will have four weeks to do so.’

‘Four weeks,’ Jord repeated, ‘is a long time to send away your guards and the prince you are holding hostage.’

‘I do not think he’s a hostage anymore.’

‘Yes, I’ve noticed you’ve developed a fondness for each other.’

‘Which is why I believe he can do it,’ Laurent said, standing from the chaise he was on and stopping Jord in his path. ‘I believe he’ll do it for _me_.’

‘Laurent, what if he only wants to do this for bragging rights? That he, an Akielon prince, made his way into and out of the Veretian palace unnoticed?’

Laurent pursed his lips. He didn’t think Damianos was like that, and surely it wasn’t true. He would make sure that before he gave any form of permission that Damianos would have an actual plan for how to get back the statue. He didn’t know what it looked like, he didn’t know the layout of the palace at Arles, and he would be relying entirely on Jord and his men to direct him to the object in question.

‘It’s too risky,’ Jord said. ‘There are too many ways it could go wrong, _including_ leading the King’s men directly to you. A cart with a golden statue inside will draw attention, even if we do manage to get it out.’

‘Jord, I know.’

‘You’ve lasted ten years without him –’

‘Exactly, it’s been _ten years_ ,’ Laurent hissed, ‘and I still can’t sleep at night because every time I close my eyes, I see him freezing, the fear in his eyes as the gold closed over them. If I cannot bring him back, at least I can take him out of a place where he has to be near the _King_.’

Jord shut his mouth on whatever argument was forming there. He bowed deeply, keeping his eyes downcast as he spoke. ‘Of course, Highness. I will do whatever you command of me.’

‘Yes,’ Laurent agreed. ‘You will.’

***

‘Lord Laurent requests your presence,’ Jord announced, as Damen opened his door.

They had both already retired to their chambers, Damen cautiously kissing Laurent’s gloved hand as he bid him goodnight earlier. ‘Is he okay?’ Damen asked, closing his door and following Jord down the hall to Laurent’s.

‘He is fine.’

It might’ve been Damen’s imagination, but Jord’s voice sounded cold. He hadn’t even spoken like that when Damen had first arrived at Acquitart, and it was a strange feeling to be treated like he was hated and unwanted here, after how he had just slid right into place like he’d always been here. Damen raised an eyebrow as Jord left him at the door with a short knock on the wood.

Laurent opened the door from inside, frowning as he saw Jord’s retreating figure disappear around a corner. ‘Come in.’

‘Did I do something?’ Damen asked, entering Laurent’s chambers for the first time.

The room itself was bigger than Damen’s. Not overly decorated, but showed clear signs of being lived in, with the bed covered in a pile of soft throws, and at least three books in various stages of being read that Damen could immediately see. There was a chaise lounge under one window, too, and given the dishevelled blanket and open book on it, Damen surmised Laurent had probably been reading there by candlelight.

‘No,’ Laurent shook his head with a small smile. ‘He’s just a little annoyed at my decision to send you to Arles.’

Damen stopped his visual inspection of the room and turned to Laurent with what was probably a very unattractively gaping mouth. ‘You are?’

‘Did you change your mind about stealing from the King of Vere?’ Laurent asked. ‘I would not blame you.’

‘No!’ Damen said quickly. ‘No, of course not. I offered, and I will follow through.’

‘I will not let you leave without a plan, so you have two days to come up with one.’

‘Two days?’

‘In less than three weeks, the King will be hosting the annual midsummer ball,’ Laurent explained. ‘It is an opportunity you could do with. Lax security and strangers swarming will be perfect cover to get in. The King’s opening address ensures you will have a ten-minute window to get the statue out and leave undetected.’

‘Sounds like that’s my plan.’

‘It is a start. You will need to go over the details with Jord and the others, and make sure you’re all on exactly the same page before you arrive in Arles. I’m already risking enough by allowing you to travel so far north – to leave Acquitart with minimal guards for an entire month. I cannot allow any of you to mess up what is already a stupid plan and end up imprisoned by the King.’

‘No offence, but there were not many guards here to begin with, so calling it _minimal guards_ is maybe an overstatement,’ Damen joked.

‘Damianos,’ Laurent said, his tone a warning. ‘That is exactly my point.’

‘Well,’ Damen sighed, ‘I guess we better make sure nothing goes wrong.’

***

In contrast to Jord’s glaring, Lazar seemed perfectly enthused about everything. He was obviously looking forward to the month worth of travel time back and forth from the Veretian capital but was keeping his excitement mostly contained under the stare of Jord. Orlant didn’t seem to care either way, happy to go where Laurent ordered him to, but used to travelling outside Acquitart as a messenger.

Damen was only a little surprised to find himself at the head of the entire operation, allocating roles to the others and making the plans with what detail he could get from them. So far, the plan seemed to come down to walk into the palace, walk out of the palace with a golden statue, and don’t get caught. It wasn’t much, but it was what they would have to do if they were going to pull it off.

‘This is the worst idea I have ever heard,’ Jord said, for at least the fifth time that day. ‘We’re going to get caught.’

‘We’re not going to get caught,’ Damen said with a sigh. ‘We have two more weeks to plan this when we leave, and by the time we arrive, I expect everyone to know the plan inside and out.’

‘And exactly what, Exalted, _is_ the plan?’

Damen returned Jord’s glare with one of his own. ‘The plan is to not get caught or question the prince that is an expert in the avoiding of palace guards.’

‘Your plan is to trust you, an Akielon, in the royal palace of Vere. No offence, but you will not exactly be inconspicuous.’

‘Well, you do not have to come,’ Damen said, standing from the table and giving him a tight smile. ‘But I go where my commander tells me to.’

‘Do not worry, he knows exactly how I feel about this as well,’ Jord muttered.

Damen pretended he hadn’t heard that, and left for the library to meet Laurent. They would be leaving for Arles tomorrow, and Damen was almost afraid to go beyond the walls and leave Laurent here, nearly completely alone and defenceless; even though he knew that golden sword would be attached to him at the hip the entire time they were gone.

‘Finished with your strategy meeting?’ Laurent asked, not even looking up from his book as Damen entered the room, lowering himself into the spare chair beside him.

‘Yes,’ Damen said, leaning over the arm to peer at what Laurent was reading. ‘Jord is still mostly unwilling to cooperate.’

‘I know,’ Laurent closed the book, using his thumb to mark the page, ‘but when you get there, he will be solid as a rock and twice as stubborn to allow harm to you.’

‘It is only going to be the four of us, so I hope so,’ Damen sighed. ‘We could take an extra two days to go through Marlas and get support from Nikandros, but the sight of so many Akielons would probably send the King into a spiral and make him attack.’

‘You would also arrive a day or two late,’ Laurent pointed out. ‘Is there even a reason for this? Do you think it is worth the risk just for a statue?’

‘Friends are worth the risk.’

‘He is dead, Damianos. Solid gold.’

‘I want to do this for you,’ Damen said. Though he was still trying to convince himself it was a good idea – Jord had a point – because he did actually want to do something for Laurent. He didn’t know the whole story, he could feel it, but maybe this would be the missing link. ‘Nothing like a heist to get the blood pumping.’

Laurent raised an eyebrow. ‘So, you are doing this for fun.’

‘Well, I’m not doing it for money, am I?’ Damen shrugged. He wondered if it counted as a heist or kidnapping, what they were going to do. If it _was_ a live person at one point, but was now more of an object, then the lines sort of blurred together. He decided not to dwell on it.

‘I do not know why you’re doing it at all. It has been ten years. I do not _need_ him.’

Damen shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that.’

Laurent pursed his lips. ‘I think you should go to bed. You need to leave early tomorrow.’

‘I know. We plan to go before the sun is up.’

Laurent nodded. ‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight,’ Damen said, standing from the chair. He wanted to say something else, but he didn’t know what. He decided to leave it, and left Laurent behind in the library.

***

Laurent didn’t sleep that night. It wasn’t anything new, but he found himself wound too tightly to even consider leaving the library to attempt to rest in his chambers. He busied himself with reading books and intermittently staring into the flames until the utter blackness of night made way for the earliest dawn light, at which point he tucked himself further into his chair and waited to leave the library until he heard Jord laughing loudly in the kitchen.

The torches in the castle provided little warmth for those walking around it, but Laurent was used to it by now, and barely felt a difference in the air as he went outside and found the others meeting in the courtyard.

Jord had saddled his horse already, and was making last minute adjustments to his weaponry and bags. He paused when he saw Laurent, coming over to speak to him.

‘Do not start,’ Laurent warned, before Jord could even open his mouth.

‘I was going to ask if you will be okay here without us,’ Jord frowned. ‘Though, if you were expecting me to continue complaining about this suicide mission, I would like to remind you that you can call it off any moment until we leave sight.’

‘I will be fine. No one came here until Damianos, and I am sure anyone less battle ready will be no match for me,’ Laurent said, turning his eyes to where Damianos was now leading his horse from the stables. ‘And I do want to stop you all from leaving, but I’m selfish.’

‘You’re not selfish.’

‘I’m selfish,’ Laurent repeated. ‘I want him.’

‘Who, Damianos? Or –’

‘Both,’ Laurent said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘So, I will do whatever it takes to keep him here and happy.’

‘You cannot keep him here forever,’ Jord said, ‘and you will not be able to keep him in the dark much longer.’

‘Maybe not.’

‘Laurent!’ Damianos greeted, interrupting their conversation. He was dressed in Veretian clothing, which came as a surprise to Laurent – he thought he’d want to ride in his own Akielon garments. ‘I was not sure you would be here to see us off.’

‘I never sleep, Damianos,’ Laurent said wryly. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘I said I would, and I don’t go back on myself. I will be back, and I’ll have your friend in tow.’

‘And the King’s men on your tail.’

Damianos smiled and tapped a finger to his temple. ‘No one can follow us if we don’t get caught.’

Laurent gave a small smile despite himself. ‘Then don’t get caught.’

‘We won’t.’

‘Almost dawn!’ Jord announced, from where he had gone back to his horse and mounted.

‘You should go, then,’ Laurent said softly, ‘and come back.’

‘Will you miss me?’ Damianos asked, his eyes twinkling.

‘Perhaps.’

‘That’s good enough,’ Damianos said, taking Laurent’s hand softly and touching his lips to the silk covered knuckles.

‘Go with grace, Damianos,’ Laurent murmured, rubbing his thumb lightly across the cold of Damianos’.

‘No one calls me that,’ Damianos said, still holding Laurent’s hand. ‘You can call me Damen.’

‘Damen,’ Laurent repeated, his voice curling around the name like a caress. ‘Be safe.’

‘You too,’ _Damen_ said, finally dropping Laurent’s hand and going to his horse, mounting quickly and trotting over to be with the others at the gates.

Laurent followed them, reaching out and taking hold of Bucephalus’ reins. ‘Damen, wait.’

‘Laurent?’ Damen said. ‘What’s the matter?’

Laurent paused, clenching his fingers briefly around the reins before he let them go. ‘Come back to me.’

Damen smiled, reaching down and ghosting his fingers almost against the side of Laurent’s face. ‘I will, I promise.’

‘We need to go!’ Jord said, interrupting their moment and signalling for the gates to open. ‘The sun will expose us if we do not hurry.’

Bucephalus pawed at the ground as Damen sat back up straight. ‘Watch for me on the horizon.’

Laurent didn’t have time to reply, before Damen and the others left the gate, and his next words died on his lips. ‘I’ll be counting the moments,’ he said quietly, the empty air giving no reply.


	7. Nostos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damen sneaking into arles like *pink panther theme*
> 
> ~~also yes i know this chapter is called _nostos_ i am choosing to ignore that it implies a journey over water~~

The journey was long, fraught with more danger than Damen expected, but less than he was prepared for. The unrest throughout Vere was evident whenever they stopped at an inn and were faced with suspicion at best, hostility verging on violence at worst. Some innkeepers straight out refused to allow them room, and barely gave them enough time to eat food and drink some.

Even Orlant, who was used to heading out of Acquitart on longer missions, was wary of the situation. ‘Maybe it is just the smaller places,’ he suggested after a week with no inns taking them. ‘If the King is tending to his army and conscripting all their sons.’

‘Or it’s going to get worse the further north we go,’ Jord muttered. ‘This was a bad idea.’

‘Thank you, it has been an hour since you last reminded us,’ Damen said, shooting him a look. ‘We’re just going to get in, get out, and retreat to Acquitart. We will hope the King dies, then we are all free to live our lives.’

‘Maybe except you,’ Lazar said with a wink. ‘You and Laurent are getting _very_ friendly.’

‘Why would I not be free to live my life?’

‘Marriage, my friend,’ Lazar slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I hear it is restricting.’

‘Who said anything about marriage?’

‘This is not where this conversation was going,’ Jord muttered, closing his waterskin and heading away from the fire to his bedroll.

‘I think he has a crush on you,’ Lazar whispered, flicking a piece of ash towards Jord. ‘Or Laurent.’

‘That is… unfortunate,’ Damen frowned. ‘Are you nervous?’

‘About what?’

‘Getting to Arles, into the palace.’

Lazar shrugged, moving to lie on his side by the fire. ‘I’m sure you know what you are doing. Even if you do not, we will have fun getting killed.’

‘You think I’m going to get us killed?’ Damen asked. ‘That does not inspire much confidence.’

‘Neither does your plan consisting of _“get in, get out, don’t get caught”_ , Damianos.’

‘You have a point,’ Damen smiled wryly, poking the wood of the fire a little. ‘As long as you all play along, we will be fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No,’ Damen admitted. ‘But we have to be. I promised Laurent I would return to him.’

Lazar watched him for a moment. ‘You still haven’t figured it out, have you?’

‘Figured out what?’

‘Nothing,’ Lazar shook his head. ‘I will take first watch. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.’

‘Surely it should be me saying that,’ Damen said, nevertheless heading for his bedroll. ‘Wake me for next watch.’

‘As you wish.’

Damen folded his arms beneath his head, watching the stars twinkle above them for a few minutes. He turned to his side for sleep, and was on the verge of unconsciousness when Lazar spoke again.

‘Does it bother you?’ he asked quietly. ‘That you cannot touch him?’

Damen didn’t know if he should answer that, or if maybe he should just pretend to be asleep, not having heard him. He wasn’t sure he had an answer for that question as it was, so maybe not speaking would be the wiser option. He didn’t even know why it was something that needed an answer. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘It is clear you favour each other, and if it was me, I would have bedded him already.’

‘He is your lord.’

‘He is also a bitch when he wants to be, with a tongue sharp as knives and twice as deadly,’ Lazar huffed. ‘Does not mean I wouldn’t fuck him.’

That had Damen turning over to look at him incredulously. ‘Are you jealous of me?’

‘Of course not,’ Lazar rolled his eyes. ‘It would be torture on me not to be able to partake in the more… _carnal_ desires of mine, so I wondered if it was the same for you.’

‘I am usually like you,’ Damen collapsed onto his back again, returning to look at the stars. ‘He is different, other than the obvious.’

‘Is he?’

‘I do not want to rush into things, even if I could. For now, it does not bother me because I’m not thinking about it too much. If things progress, then it might be different, but that is not a problem for me to be considering right now.’

‘What _are_ you considering right now?’

‘How I’m going to sneak a life-sized golden statue from the Veretian palace,’ Damen yawned. ‘Wake me when you tire.’

‘I will.’

Lazar fell silent, for the most part. Damen could hear gentle scratching sounds, like maybe he was carving a piece of wood. Combined with the crackling from the fire and the occasional hum from Lazar as his knife etched out his design, it was peaceful and quiet enough for Damen to fall into dreamless sleep.

***

Two days’ ride from Arles saw Damen and the others finally get accepted for the night at an inn. They were still being watched warily – Damen, especially – but the other patrons seemed content that an Akielon travelling with three Veretians posed no risk. At the flash of Damen’s coin to the innkeeper for their accommodation and dinner, it seemed the entire place warmed up to them all a lot more.

‘You could have been a little subtler,’ Jord muttered, as they took their place at a table in the corner. ‘I am not in the mood to get my things stolen tonight.’

Damen rolled his eyes. ‘I’m sure you will be able to deal with anyone wishing to try.’

Jord grumbled something under his breath, his eyes flicking over Damen’s shoulder as someone approached. He kept his eyes on them as a large platter was placed on the table, a selection of meats and other foods laid out.

Lazar sighed happily, going straight for the warm bread and shoving an entire chunk in his face with little care for decorum.

Damen and the others watched him with a kind of horrified fascination, eating their own fill quietly and politely as to not draw even more attention to their table.

Orlant was, as ever, the first to head upstairs for the night. He seemed to be bored of travelling, which at this point they all were, and still had another two weeks to head _back_ to Acquitart, but he was often the one sent on errands, so it was like the journey just wasn’t as exciting for him as the others.

Jord was keeping a critical eye on the remainder of the inn over the rim of his cup. The last time he had taken Damen outside the walls of Acquitart, he’d been gored by a sanglier, so he was almost taking extra precautions to make sure he didn’t get the prince killed _completely_ this time. Laurent would certainly not forgive him now.

Damen, sitting with his back to the room, watched Jord as he tracked someone over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as the sound of footfalls registered with Damen.

‘Your friend is not of Vere,’ a sultry voice said, as someone slid onto the bench next to him.

Damen turned to see who it was, finding a boy of no more than nineteen next to him. He was dressed simply but cleanly, his fine caramel hair swept away from his face and tied back with a length of ribbon. He had plain features, but would no doubt be considered adequate for what he seemed to be suggesting with his manner.

Damen was about to answer when the boy spoke again. ‘Does he speak our tongue?’ he asked Jord.

‘Ask him yourself,’ Jord said, taking another sip from his cup.

The boy furrowed his brow, perplexed for a moment, before speaking in stilted Akielon. ‘You speak my mouth?’

Damen smiled at the attempt, answering him in Veretian. ‘I speak yours better than you speak mine.’

The boy heaved a sigh of relief, beaming at him. ‘Would you care to share in a cup of wine?’

Damen glanced to Jord, who seemed amused by this behaviour, concealing his smile behind the cup he wasn’t drinking from. ‘My cup is spoken for.’

The boy nodded, looking contemplatively towards Jord and a surprisingly quiet Lazar. ‘You can share me.’

‘I appreciate the offer, but no.’

‘You do not like sharing?’

‘We are not involved, and none of us will require your services, thank you,’ Damen said, simply looking at the boy until he got the message and left with a backwards glance at them, like he couldn’t believe he’d been turned down.

‘I do not need you to speak for me here,’ Jord said, once he was out of earshot. ‘I might have wanted to take up his offer.’

‘Did you?’ Damen asked, picking at one of the olives left on the platter.

‘No.’

‘I was tempted,’ Lazar said, watching as the boy made his way to one of the other tables nearby. ‘Looks like he has a nice ass.’

‘Know what is even nicer?’ Jord asked, draining his cup and standing. ‘Keeping all your belongings.’

Lazar hummed thoughtfully as Jord left for upstairs. ‘He could have a point.’

‘He does,’ Damen shrugged. ‘Do what you will, but what you lose is your own fault.’

‘Easy for you to say. You have everything, _and_ someone waiting for your return.’

‘Yes, but remember he is swaddled like a newborn at all times.’

‘That was not what I meant, and you know it.’

Damen smiled a little, pushing a group of crumbs together on the platter. ‘I do not think you will find any emotions in someone prepared to call you lover for just a night.’

‘You never know,’ Lazar sighed. ‘But I cannot take him home, so I will be merciful as to not make him miss me or my cock too badly.’

‘How thoughtful,’ Damen said drily, standing from his chair. ‘I’m headed to bed. Do not make too many bad decisions.’

‘Do I ever?’

‘Guess we will see,’ Damen drained the last of his cup and headed upstairs to the relative softness of his bed.

***

Getting into Arles wasn’t the hard part. Sure, they might’ve had difficulty getting accepted for the night at inns, they might’ve slept rough more often than not, and had limited food and drink, but it wasn’t _hard_ – it was just inconvenient.

They arrived in Arles on the day of the midsummer ball they were intending to sneak into, and the city was thrumming with excited crowds. The palace itself would be open only to those invited, but the inner courtyard would be free for all, with stalls and music – at least according to Jord. He’d been to a few of these before, he said, when he and Laurent still lived here.

They found lodgings in the outer area of Arles, even though they wouldn’t be here overnight, purely for the stables for their horses and the opportunity to freshen up before they went to worm their way into the castle. One last run through the plan, and everything was set to go.

Damen tried to convince himself this was just like any other mission, like he’d been on a hundred times before. This was, however, less military tactics, and more stealth, which would be a little more difficult this time because he would likely stand out as an Akielon in a veritable sea of Veretians.

The only option they had here was to succeed in stealing from the King of Vere, or be caught and – at best – imprisoned. Damen was used to having the lives of others resting on him and his plans, but never quite like this.

The afternoon sun gave way to night and Damen forced himself to keep his nerves at bay, concentrating fully on the task at hand. He and the others began to make their way to the palace, secure in their roles and each other’s, and he was sure there was nothing that could go wrong.

Orlant drifted off when they reached the crowds straining at the gates of the palace courtyard, off to complete his part of the plan.

The gates opened, and the crowds pushed in, carrying Damen, Jord, and Lazar along with them. Musicians were strewn around a central area, everything else the courtyard had to offer lining the edges. Couples took place and began dancing to the cheerful music, the long skirts of the women creating a kaleidoscope of colour as they twirled together and around each other.

It reminded Damen of the summer festivals at home in Ios, and he was struck a little by the surprising thought that he didn’t miss them as much as he thought he would. Maybe it was because he thought he’d be spending his summer with Nikandros in Delpha, or maybe it was because he’d inadvertently stumbled upon Laurent. Someone who was alone and isolated in the countryside, but was like a star in the night, shining brightly and brilliantly against the dark and barren landscape around him.

If he thought about it – and it seemed he was going to – then Damen didn’t care about the festivals anymore. He’d been going to them his entire life, and to give them up for one year so he could meet Laurent was a worthy exchange. If Laurent couldn’t leave Acquitart, then Damen realised it might be more than one year he was giving up. Maybe he wouldn’t mind that, either.

He grabbed the arms of Jord and Lazar as they headed directly for the palace, giving him an odd look when he stopped them.

‘What?’ Jord asked, leaning in close to Damen so passersby wouldn’t overhear them. ‘We need to get inside.’

‘We should wait until there are already plenty in before us,’ Damen said. ‘We can look around. Get some stuff.’

‘Like what?’

Damen shrugged, but his eyes were caught by a stall over Jord’s shoulder, and he dropped their arms to head towards what looked like a seller of soaps. His table was covered in an array of small glass bottles filled with colourful liquids, and Damen wanted to know if there was any of that purple soap Laurent liked. He still couldn’t remember what that flower was called.

Jord and Lazar followed close behind, leaning close to him again before he reached the stall. ‘Do not speak Veretian,’ Jord hissed. ‘Or at least not well.’

‘Fine,’ Damen replied, approaching the seller with a smile and picking up the first purple soap he saw. It didn’t smell quite right, so he put the stopper back in and went for the next.

‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’ the man asked, his eyes drifting towards a bottle of what looked like liquid gold. Probably his most expensive offering.

Damen nodded and smiled politely, answering in Akielon. ‘Purple soap.’

The seller’s smile dropped a little at the apparent language barrier. ‘I do not speak Akielon.’

‘No, I thought not,’ Damen continued, opening another bottle and putting it back down. ‘Flower?’ Damen asked in Veretian, leaking his own accent as heavily over the word as he could, as he gestured at the bottle, hoping the message would get across.

The man’s eyes lit up at Damen’s query, nodding enthusiastically and picking up one of the slightly larger, but still purple, bottles of soap. ‘Here,’ he offered it to Damen, taking the small bottle back from him.

Damen opened it and took a sniff, nodding at the familiar scent. ‘Yes.’

‘How much is it?’ Jord asked, pretending to act as translator.

‘For an Akielon, eight pieces. Those barbarians do not even like soap, so why should I sell it to one?’ the seller said with a laugh.

Lazar started laughing behind Damen, but for much different reasons than the man, while Jord cast a nervous glance at Damen.

‘And how much,’ Damen asked, switching back to his fluent, barely accented Veretian, ‘for an Akielon barbarian that understands you?’

The man’s laughter stopped immediately, and the colour drained from his face. ‘Three pieces.’

Damen gave him a tight smile and withdrew the three pieces from his coin pouch, handing them over. ‘Pleasure doing business.’

The man had the decency to look sheepish as Damen and the other two walked away towards the other stalls, soap in hand.

Jord gave a tired sigh as they headed to another stall covered with trinkets. ‘You probably should not –’

‘Should not have done that?’ Damen guessed. ‘I was not about to let him speak about my people that way.’

‘No, I would not expect you to. What I was going to say is that we should not spend too much time out here. Orlant will draw attention after a while.’

‘A while,’ Damen repeated pointedly. ‘Yes, so a few minutes looking at things will not make any difference, will it?’

‘I suppose not,’ Jord sighed in resignation. ‘Are you looking for yourself?’ he asked, glancing doubtfully at the thin, delicate jewellery. ‘I do not think the Veretian style will… suit you.’

‘No, not for me,’ Damen said, looking over the table’s offerings. Much of it looked a little flimsy, things he was afraid he would break for merely picking up. He moved along to the next table, covered with small jars and baskets of foods Damen didn’t recognise.

‘He likes this,’ Jord said, picking up a jar, tightly sealed and packed with what looked like orange. ‘Candied rinds. A summer specialty.’

‘How much?’ Damen asked the vendor.

She shrugged and picked up another one. ‘Two jars for one copper. You don’t have to get two of the same.’

Damen looked to Jord, who shrugged as well with a casual, ‘We have not brought any back for a few years.’

‘Two of the same is fine,’ Damen said, rummaging for a copper piece in his coin pouch and handing it across.

‘So,’ Lazar said, as Damen cradled his two jars and small soap bottle. ‘What are you gonna do with that while we are in the palace?’

Damen blinked and looked down to his hands. ‘We will sort something.’

‘Better hope so, because they will be very helpful when we are trying to smuggle solid gold from the palace,’ Jord muttered.

Damen slipped the soap into the pouch at his hip. ‘Can you each fit one of these jars in yours?’ he asked, as Jord and Lazar watched him curiously.

‘Now?’ Lazar asked.

‘No, not now.’

‘We can try.’

‘Or you could have just not bought them,’ Jord sighed, as they lined up behind the large group preparing to enter the palace. ‘Look, a group is about to go in, we can probably sneak through with them.’

‘Let’s do this, then,’ Damen nodded. ‘Can either of you speak other languages?’

‘I have Patran and a little Kemptian,’ Jord said. ‘Lazar has Vaskian.’

‘Great, the plan is if we get stopped at the door or at any point, none of us speak Veretian.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Just go with it.’

‘Can you speak Patran or Vaskian if we have to keep it up?’

Damen blinked. ‘I’m the Crown Prince of Akielos, of course I can.’

‘Just checking,’ Jord held his hands up and took an audible breath as the group they’d joined began to move forward.

The guards at the doors to the palace gave them a suspicious look as they smiled and followed through with their new friends, who hadn’t noticed they’d joined the group. They signalled the three of them over, looking over their less-than-perfect clothing.

‘Where did you come from?’ one asked, hand going to the sword at his hip.

‘Hello!’ Damen said in Akielon, bowing a little to them. ‘We are weary travellers who like to party.’

‘We do not speak Akielon,’ the same guard said, sighing wearily. He exchanged a glance with his friend and pointed into the palace. ‘You have invitation?’ he asked, making a book gesture with his hands.

‘With friends!’ Damen said, going back to his heavily accented Veretian and pointing after the group they’d joined. ‘Friends!’

The guards sighed wearily. ‘Just let them in,’ the other guard said. ‘No one is going to care, and if they do, we weren’t at the doors.’

The first guard rolled his eyes. ‘You can go in,’ he said, waving his arm. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes?’ Damen said, he lifted his jars of orange rinds and grinned at them. ‘Yes!’

‘Yes,’ the guard said impatiently, exaggeratedly reaching behind them for the next invite.

‘Told you it would work,’ Damen murmured, as the three of them headed into the palace proper.

‘That was only one set of guards,’ Jord said, nodding his head towards a hallway, tucked almost out of sight. ‘Follow me.’

‘You know where the… _thing_ is, right?’

‘I know where it was.’

Damen looked to Lazar, who lifted a shoulder in a shrug and glanced around before following Jord. ‘He spent more time in here than I did.’

‘Why?’ Damen asked, as they slipped down the hall and away from the crowds in the main area of the palace. It was much quieter down here, with people still running around, but far too busy to bother paying any attention to a few lost guests.

‘That, uh, that is his business.’ Lazar nodded his head towards where Jord was waiting for them further up the corridor. ‘We need to be quick about this.’

‘Where are we going?’ Damen asked, as he and Lazar met with Jord at the end of the corridor. ‘This does not seem like the kind of place to keep a golden statue.’

‘It’s not. This is where they used to bring it.’

‘But it is not here?’

‘No, but it was not in the entrance either.’

‘So,’ Damen said, handing them each a small jar to hide somewhere on their person, ‘where _is_ it?’

‘My only guess is somewhere in the King’s quarters,’ Jord said. ‘Or further in the palace where there are more people, and then it will be even harder to get out.’

‘Fuck,’ Damen muttered, scratching the back of his neck. ‘Okay, we need to get it.’

‘We can leave it, Laurent will understand,’ Jord said.

‘No, we are not leaving without it.’

‘But –’

‘No. We did not come all this way to ride back with soap and rinds,’ Damen said, beginning to pace. ‘How common knowledge is it that the statue is here?’

‘Not at all,’ Jord shook his head. ‘You cannot play innocent at wanting to see it.’

‘Okay,’ Damen took a deep breath. ‘From what I know about the King and from what Laurent has said, he likes to show off, right? Where is somewhere out of the way but still close enough to the party that the statue could be where someone could just stumble upon it?’

Jord and Lazar exchanged a look. ‘He wouldn’t, would he?’ Lazar muttered.

‘He might,’ Jord said slowly, before turning his attention back to Damen. ‘Near the kitchens. There is an alcove.’

‘Are you sure?’ Damen asked.

‘If someone wanted something specific from the kitchen, they would have to go past there.’

‘Would there be any guards?’

‘They would get in the way. The hall is not… wide.’

A slow smile crept across Damen’s face as he got an idea. ‘So, a statue could be in the way?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘Lead the way.’

Jord nodded and turned down the adjoining left corridor, leading them through the maze of what seemed to be servant access. He took more turns like he knew them like the back of his hand, only stopping a couple of times to mutter things under his breath, nod decisively, and keep moving. He stopped only a few minutes later, pausing at a corner where they could see copious golden light in the hall in front of them. ‘The kitchens are ahead.’

‘Wait here,’ Damen said quietly, going ahead to the doorway and peeking out. He could see from where he was that something was reflecting the torches lining the corridor – and also that there was no one currently _in_ the corridor. ‘Empty,’ he said, once he’d gone back to join the others. ‘It is there. Good guess.’

‘So, what now? We just take it?’ Jord asked, ignoring the praise.

‘We say the King demanded it be moved because it is blocking the hall.’

‘What if someone argues?’ Lazar asked.

‘Do you think they will?’

‘I think people have more things on their minds than a statue being moved around the castle.’

‘Great,’ Damen turned to Jord. ‘Do you know how to get to Orlant from here?’

‘Just back down the hall at one of the doors we passed.’

‘Convenient. Ready?’ At Jord and Lazar’s twin nods, Damen gave them an encouraging smile. ‘Look like we are meant to be here.’

The three of them set down the hallway, checking once more that there was no one down there, before they approached the alcove Jord had pointed out and the statue within it.

As they stopped in front, Damen felt all the breath leave him.

It was a young man – maybe around Damen’s age, his eyes wide and fearful, hand outstretched as he leaned down a little. There were wisps of hair around his face from where it seemed to have escaped bindings at the back, and something about him… _pulled_ at Damen. He didn’t know what it was, but that nose and the full lips, Damen recognised it. Had he been allowed to look at him for a few moments longer, he would’ve filled in the blonde hair and bright blue eyes, but as it was, they were wasting time.

‘Let’s do this,’ Damen murmured. ‘If we lift it only a little off the ground, it will be easier to carry.’

Jord and Lazar nodded, taking up position. Jord, tasked with wrapping his arms around a leg, his hands sliding somewhere around the statue’s crotch, winced a little. Damen realised if he’d been with Laurent most of his life, he would have known this man in life.

‘Ready?’ Damen said, nodding once, and they lifted, manoeuvring him out of the alcove and into the hall. The statue didn’t weigh as much as any of them expected it to, and with their combined strength, almost rocketed it into the lower ceiling of the alcove.

The three of them exchanged a wide-eyed look as they glanced to the hairsbreadth between the top of the statue and the alcove.

‘We’re fine,’ Damen whispered. ‘Let’s go.’

They started to creep down the hall with the statue, almost managing to reach the doorway they needed, when a someone called after them.

‘Hey!’ They froze, turning to the young woman watching them, hands on her hips. ‘Where are you going with that?’ she asked, approaching them.

‘We have been told to move it,’ Jord said quickly. ‘Blocking the hall.’

‘Oh?’ she raised an eyebrow and looked at Damen suspiciously. ‘Who is he?’

‘I –’

‘He’s Akielon,’ Jord interrupted. ‘Barbarian. Does not speak our civilised tongue. Newly acquired.’

‘Oh?’

‘He is to be a new pet,’ Lazar added smoothly. ‘Being put to good use.’

The woman hummed and looked him over. ‘Far too big for a pet.’

‘We all have our proclivities,’ Lazar winked at her. ‘Do you intend to help us or just stand there?’

She looked them over once more and rolled her eyes. ‘I’m going back to the kitchen.’

‘Great. Thanks for checking in,’ he said, as the three of them waited for her to disappear again before they picked up the statue and made their way – considerably faster – through the corridors.

‘This one,’ Jord said, a few minutes later, after they’d successfully navigated the passages with no more encounters, finishing their short journey at the doors he’d mentioned earlier. He knocked twice on the door, then once more after a brief pause. They waited for the knock to be repeated and collectively let out a breath.

Jord opened the door, and they were met by Orlant, a wagon behind him. ‘Hurry up, the guards will be back around.’

‘Help us lift,’ Damen said, as they began moving it carefully through the doorway and out to… wherever they were. Somewhere behind the kitchens. It was darker now than when they came to the palace, and from what Damen could see in the dim light, this was something like direct access to the kitchens for grain delivery and the like.

There were a few tense moments when they thought the statue wouldn’t fit through, but they managed to tilt it just enough that the fingertips weren’t grazing the jamb.

Orlant quickly jumped up into the wagon, pulling the cover back and helping them lay the statue flat on the hay in the bed. ‘Hurry up!’ he hissed, as Jord and Lazar slid into the bed after the statue. He and Damen pulled the cover over them and secured it at the sides, before they both jumped onto the bench behind the horses.

‘Straight to the inn,’ Damen murmured, as Orlant took the reigns of the horses and the cart started moving slowly.

‘We’ll take the back streets,’ Orlant said, guiding the horses back out the gate, picking up their pace as they got further from the palace. ‘I cannot believe that worked.’

‘It hasn’t yet. Just get us to the inn.’                            

They were quiet for the quick ride back to the inn, only the occasional mutterings from Jord or Lazar when they were poked by something. When they got back, Damen jumped off straight away to let them out and to make their way as calmly to their rooms to get their things as they could.

They’d left their horses saddled, so it was only a matter of attaching their bags and Jord taking the reins for Orlant’s horse as well.

From there, they made for the edge of the city, careful to keep an eye on the roads behind them for any guards.

None came, and within the hour, they were on their way home to Acquitart.


	8. Minunthadios

Seeing horses on the horizon had never been a point of excitement for Laurent, not since he came to Acquitart at least. This time, he found his heart skipping a beat as anxiety took hold, unsure whether it would be those he awaited or unknown invaders. As they bore down closer to the castle walls, Laurent could see clearer the three riders and cart, and surely – this was Damen with his men. He didn’t know why he had been expecting four riders and maybe the statue being towed behind them.

The rider in front waved up to Laurent on the ramparts, and his stomach flipped. It was Damen, but with that knowledge came the thought that he surely must have figured it out by now. He would know who Laurent was soon, if he didn’t already. Damen had been young when they had last met, but not so young to have forgotten the elder prince of Vere, strong and handsome, shining as brightly in spirit as he now did in gold.

Laurent, lord and prince as he might be, hurried down to open the gates for them. It had been a month since he had last seen any of them, and that was the longest time in ten years that he had been without their faces and company.

‘Laurent!’ Damen greeted, smiling widely as he leapt off his horse. He seemed to almost forget himself as he rushed across the courtyard, arms open.

‘You cannot,’ Laurent reminded him, even as Damen carefully grabbed his hands, kissing the knuckles and looking very much like he wanted to hug him despite any accidental contact that may occur. ‘It is good to see you,’ he murmured.

‘You as well,’ Damen said, still smiling. ‘You are even more beautiful than I remember.’

Laurent blushed a little at that, turning towards Jord and the others who now approached. ‘Welcome back,’ he said, maybe a little too formal.

‘It is good to be back,’ Jord said, sweeping into a bow. ‘You did not get into too much trouble, I hope?’

‘Not as much as you, I would hazard.’

‘Probably not,’ Jord quirked an eyebrow. ‘We have…’ he trailed off, eyes drifting to the cart they had with them. ‘Where would you like us to put him?’

‘The reception chamber,’ Laurent decided. It was close to the entrance of the castle, small and empty, but secure from all elements. It would be a good place to put a solid gold statue of someone he held so dear to himself, where he could sit alone and separate from the others.

‘We will have him there soon,’ Jord nodded, directing Lazar and Orlant to help him remove the statue.

Laurent saw them pull back the cloth on the cart, and as the gold caught the light, he shut his eyes, turning and running inside. He didn’t want to see him, not yet, not like this.

‘Laurent!’ Damen called, but made no move to follow him.

He was thankful for it. He wasn’t sure he could face even Damen, who had risked himself to retrieve this thing for him from somewhere so dangerous, right in the clutches of his uncle. Truth be told, Laurent hadn’t even been convinced they would make it back, missing at least one of their initial party and almost definitely… _him_.

Laurent was selfish and had sent them anyway because he wanted nothing more than to have the one person – the last piece of his _family_ – back in his hands. He wanted to protect him from his uncle, and if that meant risking his closest friends and his – well, Damen, then so be it.

He went to the library, unable to stand still as he waited for them to move _him_ to the castle, and began pacing in front of the fire. The late afternoon had seen the chill of evening air begin to return, and it bit his cheeks as he walked throughout the castle, deciding the library was too confining.

Laurent found himself again on the ramparts and staring out over the land, as he waited for them to find him. The sun had been close to the edge of the horizon when he saw the conquering party return, and now it was dipping closer to the earth, casting an orange glow over all below him.

‘Laurent?’ Damen said softly, his voice carrying on the slight wind. ‘We have it inside.’

Laurent nodded, turning from the grass and trees stretching in front of him, instead facing Damen. ‘You made it back with no troubles,’ he said, making conversation as they headed down from the ramparts. ‘No one on your tail.’

‘No, we made sure we were not being followed. We have been free of people since we left sight of Arles. No one seemed to notice us leave.’

‘Really? I find that hard to believe. An Akielon running away with a golden statue from the Veretian palace.’

‘The trick is to act like you belong,’ Damen said with a wink. ‘Tell a few people you were ordered to remove something, and they will even help you carry it.’

‘You truly are a wonder,’ Laurent said lightly, as they entered the castle.

The door to the reception chamber was a little ajar, with Jord, Lazar, and Orlant standing outside. They perked up when they saw Laurent, folding their hands behind their backs.

‘Lord,’ Jord bowed. ‘He is inside.’

Laurent nodded stiffly, steeling himself for what lay in that small room. ‘I would like to be left alone,’ he said, trying to make his voice sound stronger than he felt. ‘Please.’

‘Of course.’

‘We will be in the kitchen,’ Damen murmured, ‘if you need us.’

Laurent nodded again, not meeting Damen’s eyes, and waiting for the four of them to file down the hall before he even turned to the door of the reception chamber. As they disappeared around the corner, Laurent took a breath, turning to face the door.

Before he even fully opened the door, he could already see the gold of the statue glinting in the last of the day’s light, and pushing it all the way, the wood gracing the cobbled floor of the room, Laurent felt his heart jump to his throat. Jord and the others had positioned him so he was at the front of the room where the throne should be for formal receptions. It was a fitting place for a prince, a royal object.

The first step into the same room as the statue had Laurent clenching his hands tighter in his gloves than ever before, and he could almost feel his nails biting into his palms. He hated these fucking things, hated even more the skin and hands beneath, and all they had taken from him.

He was exactly as Laurent remembered, the way he saw him in his nightmares, eyes wide and scared, hand reaching out a little, palm up and open. His long golden hair was more so now, wisps escaping at the front as they had always been wont to do, the rest curling down over one shoulder as he leaned down to comfort his once younger, smaller brother.

‘Auguste,’ he whispered brokenly, reaching out his own hand, meeting only the cold, hard resistance of unforgiving metal. Laurent felt his face crumple moments before he did, unwillingly prostrating himself at the feet of a prince, his once equal.

The tears spilled, fast and hot down his face, seeping into the collar of his jacket and becoming uncomfortably damp embarrassingly fast. He didn’t care as much as he should have, because it was nothing compared to what he’d condemned his brother to. His life had been robbed of him, becoming a mockery, a _trinket_ in the court of their uncle.

He clawed at the golden, booted foot of his brother, trying his best to gain purchase and somehow feel slightly more connected than he did right now, but the fabric of his glove gave him nothing. His fingers slipped off, over the hard laces and once supple leather. It was all Laurent could do to hold himself back from curling up at his brother’s feet, staying splayed as he was across the hard floor of the reception room, feeling even a little of how his brother did.

The night came swiftly, moonlight now casting the shadow of Auguste over the floor of the reception room, creating a grotesque image, befitting the way Laurent felt.

He’d since cried what felt like all the liquid in his body out, and now, having achieved no change to Auguste’s condition and succeeding only in making himself feel worse, Laurent forced himself upright and off the floor. He made as little sound as he could in shutting the door behind himself as he headed up to his chambers, treading softly past the kitchen and up the staircase.

He thought he heard someone call his name, a little quiet and distant, but Laurent ignored it, wanting nothing more than to be left alone to his grief.

***

It had been on Damen’s mind since they’d left Arles. He recognised the statue – the man within the statue – and things were starting to click.

Laurent had asked to be left alone, and Damen hadn’t expected him to be as long in that small, cold room as he had been so far. He’d stayed in the kitchen, thinking maybe Laurent would need him or come to find him after a while, but he hadn’t.

Damen instead drifted with Jord and the others to the small dining room to play cards beside the warmth of the fire. He didn’t know how to broach the subject of the statue, or even of his suspicions about Laurent, but it turned out he didn’t have to.

He was a little too deep in thought when someone at the table spoke, all three of the guards turning their attention to him. ‘What?’

‘I asked what you were thinking about,’ Jord said, raising an eyebrow. ‘You look like you are about to collapse to the table.’

Damen shook his head. ‘No, I… You have not been honest with me.’

The three of them exchanged a look. ‘About what?’ Lazar asked, slapping a card to the table.

‘About –’ _Laurent_. Everything fell into place in Damen’s mind. ‘He’s the Prince of Vere.’

They were silent for a moment, having some sort of unspoken conversation, culminating in a sigh from Jord and the three of them putting their cards down. ‘Nikandros of Delfeur told me you would figure it out,’ Orlant said, watching him expectantly.

‘He is the Prince of Vere,’ Damen repeated, looking to them for confirmation. ‘The statue – Laurent told me he was like a brother, his best friend. I took it to mean how I see Nikandros as a brother, but he meant his _brother_. I knew I recognised him because we met when I was younger. The memory faded, but not enough to forget the face of Auguste, Crown Prince and heir to Vere.’

‘Not anymore,’ Jord said softly. ‘How much did Laurent tell you?’

‘He lived in Arles,’ Damen said, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he wondered how it had taken so long for him to figure it out. ‘His parents died when he was young, and his best friend was the first person he went to, but he turned him to gold, and left soon after.’

Jord nodded. ‘His parents were killed by feat of the current king. Before they died, they told me there was a place I could take Laurent if it got to the point where his life was in danger, or if he was at risk of being exploited by anyone. After what happened with Auguste, I gathered Laurent’s household, and we fled here.’

‘How were you not followed?’ Damen asked. ‘You took the Prince of Vere and ran away.’

‘Acquitart is a separate principality, and they had it removed from every map of Vere. No one knew where it was anyway, being a thing of little importance, so there was no risk of us being found. We do not understand what it is, but something with Laurent’s gift prevents the castle from being found as well, which is why we were so confused when you showed up.’

‘I met him,’ Damen said, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. ‘When we were boys. Laurent and his family came to Ios for meetings with my father, and I spent every day with him for almost a month. I gave him flowers.’

‘And he kept them until the day we fled.’

‘In Akielos, we thought they all died. We mourned them and the friendship between our countries. I planted – that soap,’ Damen sighed, something else clicking in his mind. ‘The one Laurent prefers over all others. It’s scented with irises.’

‘It is. The flower of Vere,’ Jord nodded.

‘That is why he’s so particular about it.’

‘It is very precious to him, as Auguste is,’ Jord looked down to his cards, picking them up again and rearranging them in his hand. ‘As you are.’

Damen pursed his lips. He had seen Laurent drift silently past them earlier, looking defeated and more dishevelled than Damen had ever seen him, and maybe, he thought, he needed someone. ‘I will go to him,’ he decided, ‘to bring food. Maybe comfort.’

‘He may not want it,’ Lazar warned. ‘Tread carefully.’

‘If he does not want me,’ Damen said, standing for the kitchen, ‘then I will leave.’

***

Someone had already been in Laurent’s room to start the fire and set light to candles around the room. He was glad he didn’t have to sit alone in darkness, and everything seemed a little less daunting in the light.

It felt like he hadn’t fully grieved for his brother, not after what had just happened. He didn’t remember crying like that immediately after the incident, nor when he arrived at this crumbling castle, holes in the walls and moss growing across the floors. Laurent had maybe been too young to fully understand, or to hold the memory properly, but somehow seeing the fate of his brother in the light of day made it more real than he’d thought it had been.

He was perched on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the flames of the fire, like they might offer advice or solution, but nothing happened. He didn’t know how long he sat there, breathing deep and forcing himself to calm and centre.

Laurent didn’t turn when his door opened, expecting it to be one of the guards informing him there were indeed enemy riders appearing in the night.

Instead: ‘Highness.’

And that was Damen’s voice. The absolute pinnacle of his fucking day, and he didn’t want to deal with the conversation that would follow this revelation.

‘We are not doing this,’ he mumbled, looking down to his gloved hands. ‘Not today.’

‘I’m not here for that,’ Damen said softly, closing the door and putting something down on the table closest to him. ‘I’m just here. I brought food.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I know.’

Laurent felt the dip in his bed as Damen sat beside him, could see the shadow out the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything. For a few moments, neither did Damen.

‘You do not have to talk,’ Damen said, voice low. ‘I just want to say that I’m sorry –’

‘For what?’ Laurent laughed bitterly. ‘You did not do anything. You did not turn my brother into gold.’

‘No, I’m sorry we didn’t look for you. We thought something seemed wrong with the announcement of your family… We didn’t make an effort to help you.’

Laurent could’ve sworn Damen sounded ashamed of what he hadn’t done, but he wasn’t the one to take blame for this. Laurent opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off with a hand from Damen.

‘You were just a child, you did not deserve what happened to you.’

‘Neither did he,’ Laurent said. ‘I killed my brother, Damianos.’

Damen let out a level breath, waiting for the moment of Laurent’s mood to pass. ‘I remember him,’ he said, surprising Laurent a little. ‘I remember you, how you came to Ios.’

‘You do?’

‘I do. He was very charming, and I think I would have liked him, had I known him properly and not spent so much time spiriting you away.’

Laurent smiled a little. ‘He would have liked you too.’

Laurent felt Damen’s eyes on him, studying his face in the glow of fire. He wondered if maybe he looked golden, like Auguste. He wondered if Damen was going to say anything, but – ‘I wish I could kiss you,’ Damen murmured, looking down to where he was twisting his hands in his lap.

Laurent clenched his hand into a fist, the smooth silk of his glove crumpling before he relaxed and rested his hand lightly on Damen’s arm, feeling the heat of his body bleed through the glove. He’d never hated the fabric more, and would’ve given anything to feel his skin, even if just for a moment. ‘I do too,’ he whispered, ‘I’m sorry this is all I can give you. You risked so much for me, and I can’t – I can’t.’

‘This is enough,’ Damen put his hand over Laurent’s, holding it tightly and anchoring him to this place, this moment. ‘And I did not do it for that. He belongs with you.’

‘He’s still just a… a _thing_.’

‘Then,’ Damen said after a moment, ‘consider it a courting gift.’

‘A courting gift? You would link yourself to someone who can only ever sit by your side? Give you nothing in return?’

‘It’s okay,’ Damen lifted Laurent’s hand and kissed the knuckles, lingering a moment. ‘We will be okay.’

***

It took a few days for Laurent to… come back to himself. He spent much of them in the reception chamber, not necessarily curled up crying as he had done, but just… being in the same room as his brother. Every day, he ate dinner with Damen and the others, maybe played a round of cards, and then he would excuse himself and head to either the baths or his chambers.

Damen had given him space after his arrival back at Acquitart, maybe thinking he was too fragile to engage in much of anything, and Laurent didn’t know whether to thank him or kick him into action. He appreciated being left alone, but he didn’t necessarily… want it.

He saw the way Damen looked at him sometimes, like he was a deer in the woods, and he didn’t want to frighten him off. Maybe not a deer. That implied Damen was hunting him. Maybe… more like an unfamiliar cat in an alley, and Damen desperately wanted to befriend him, but wasn’t sure if his actions would aid him in his mission. Laurent could almost pinpoint the moment Damen decided to make his move.

Granted, it was right after Laurent’s usual one hand of cards played, the room in another awkward silence as they all struggled for words.

‘I will want to go for a ride tomorrow,’ Laurent said, as lightly as he could, returning his cards to the pile on the table. ‘I would welcome the fresh air.’

‘Of course,’ Jord’s eyes flicked to Damen and back, before he added, ‘Highness.’

‘You do not have to –’

‘I do,’ Jord interrupted, bored of having this conversation over and over. He and the men had decided to begin addressing Laurent through his title again, now that Damen knew who he was.

Laurent sighed and pushed his chair back from the table. ‘I will see you in the morning.’

That was when Damen made his decision. ‘I’ll accompany you,’ he said, rising with Laurent. ‘If you will allow it.’

‘I’ll allow it,’ Laurent said, watching him a little cautiously as they made their way from the room together. They hadn’t been alone since the night of Damen’s return, and Laurent didn’t know what to expect.

Damen was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked through the halls of Acquitart. He’d folded his hands behind his back, and every now and then, one of them twitched, like Damen was going to reach out for him. When they reached Laurent’s door, Damen still hadn’t said a word, and Laurent turned, waiting expectantly for Damen to speak.

‘I brought you something,’ Damen blurted, ‘from Arles.’

‘Oh,’ Laurent said, surprise clear in his tone. ‘Other than my brother?’

‘Other than, yes. I will be right back,’ Damen said, heading down the hall to his own chambers, reappearing a few moments later in Laurent’s line of vision, his hands still behind his back.

‘Do I have to ask for it?’ Laurent raised an eyebrow when Damen returned, standing in front of him with a small smile.

‘Are you going to let me into your room?’

‘Why do you want to be in my room?’

‘Because the walls have ears here,’ Damen whispered, leaning in conspiratorially.

‘Aha,’ Laurent reached behind himself, opening the door without looking away from Damen. ‘Come in.’

Damen’s smile stretched a little wider as he stepped in behind Laurent, closing the door to keep out prying eyes and ears. ‘Hi,’ he said softly.

‘Hi,’ Laurent smiled.

‘I’m sorry about the last few days,’ Damen said, keeping his hands behind his back. ‘I did not know what –’

‘You do not need to apologise, Damen,’ Laurent shook his head. ‘I appreciate the thought, but I needed the space.’

‘Do you still need space?’ Damen asked carefully. ‘We can do this another time.’

‘No,’ Laurent sat on the end of his bed and waited for Damen to follow. ‘You said you had gifts for me, and I want them now.’

Damen huffed a laugh and sat beside him. ‘Close your eyes.’

‘I don’t –’

‘I am not going to touch you or do anything, I promise.’

Laurent raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to sigh, but did as asked. He waited, heard a gentle, vaguely familiar sound, and then – ‘That’s…’ Laurent opened his eyes to see Damen holding a little bottle of purple soap in front of him. ‘You got me soap.’

‘I know your bottle is running low,’ Damen said, putting the stopper back in and handing it to him. ‘The stallholder tried to make me pay eight pieces for it because he thought I did not speak Veretian.’

‘And how much did you pay when he found out?’ Laurent asked, cradling it like a precious thing in his hands.

‘Three.’

Laurent laughed at that. ‘The crafty Akielon outwits.’

‘Of course. I also got you this,’ Damen added, bringing out two more jars from behind his back.

Laurent’s eyes widened as he realised what Damen was holding. ‘You have – _Damen_. Did Jord tell you to get me these?’

‘Maybe. Why?’

Laurent bit his lip as he took the jars, opening one slowly and savouring the scent that spilled out. ‘Auguste used to bring me these from the market every summer when I was not allowed to go out. I would sit and eat the whole jar while he told me stories about what he saw and did, and I would feel sick every time, but it was worth it. They were always my favourite thing, and I have not had any since I left Arles.’

Damen smiled with him at the thought of a young Laurent, his fingers sticky with sugar as he listened intently to his brother. ‘Well,’ Damen said, dipping his fingers into the jar and holding a rind out for Laurent. ‘I did not spend much time at the market, but I can tell you stories about what I saw in Vere.’

Laurent didn’t want to cry. He would not be a mess like that, but his eyes watered a little without his permission. ‘I would like that,’ he whispered, removing a glove before he took the rind carefully from Damen’s fingers. The first taste of the candied rind on his tongue had Laurent feel a tear slip down his face, but he’d quickly stopped caring.

Damen seemed content with this, and launched into the tale of his trip to Arles, as Laurent made his way slowly through the rinds.


	9. Anthos

Laurent seemed better the next morning, but Damen couldn’t tell if that was because of something he’d done or because the promise of a ride hung in the air. He’d beaten Damen to the kitchens for breakfast, already sitting with a steaming cup and a plate of bread and fruit at the small table in the corner.

‘Good morning,’ Laurent greeted, giving Damen a small smile as he went in search of his own food. ‘Sleep well?’

Damen smiled a little ruefully as he filled his plate with bread and fruit like Laurent. They’d spent a good deal of the night talking, and it had felt like he’d had to get up as soon as his head hit the pillow. ‘I slept.’

‘I didn’t.’ Laurent laughed at the look on Damen’s face. ‘A joke. It was the first time since you brought Auguste back.’

‘It has been nearly a week, Laurent.’

‘I have been having small sleeps, it’s fine. I’m fine.’

Damen hummed and sat with him at the table. ‘Who will be accompanying us today?’

‘I thought I would give the guards a day off,’ Laurent said lightly and watching Damen’s reaction carefully. ‘If that is…’

‘I would like that, but surely it would be inappropriate for us to be alone together.’

Laurent’s brow creased for a moment, until he rolled his eyes and caught Damen’s meaning. ‘Oh, because we’re _courting_.’

‘You say that like it is a bad thing.’

‘I just –’ Laurent sighed, picking his bread apart. ‘I do not understand why you would – I can’t… I will never be able to give you…’

‘It’s about more than that.’

‘But _why_?’

‘I have to say, Laurent, I’m beginning to think you do not like me.’

‘Of course, I like you, don’t be ridiculous.’

Damen raised an eyebrow pointedly. ‘So?’

‘Point taken,’ Laurent muttered, sipping his drink. ‘It looks like rain today, so we should go before it hits.’

Damen nodded. ‘I can eat while we saddle the horses.’

‘I’ll get the sugar cubes.’ Laurent stood and went somewhere – because Damen still had no idea where the sugar cubes came from – and reappeared a few moments later. He placed a small pile on his plate and frowned, looking back the way he’d just come. ‘Waterskins,’ he muttered, and left again.

‘Got everything?’ Damen asked, amused.

Laurent, having come back with two full waterskins, nodded, and headed for the door. ‘Bring my plate,’ he said, holding the door for Damen. ‘Let’s go.’

***

‘You have not told me her name,’ Damen said, checking the straps on his horse’s saddle.

‘Who?’ Laurent asked from across the stable, doing the same with his own, the strawberry roan mare Damen often saw with intricate braids in her mane. He’d noticed Laurent often matched her when they went riding, his own braid impeccable.

‘Who do you think?’

Laurent let out a level breath as he led her from the stall, waiting to speak until Damen and Bucephalus joined them in the courtyard outside. ‘Aukje,’ he said softly, and the mare tossed her head. ‘Augusta.’

‘Augusta?’

‘He had a horse just like her,’ Laurent explained. ‘Aukje is –’

‘Kemptian.’

Laurent nodded and mounted. ‘Like my mother.’

Damen swung up onto his horse beside him as they headed for the gates, which had been hefted open by a tired-looking Jord. ‘Do you speak Kemptian?’ Damen asked.

‘A little.’

Damen slid his eyes to Laurent as they left the grounds of the castle and turned towards the grass and forests beyond. ‘Do you want me to teach you?’

‘You know it?’

‘Just in case.’

Laurent pursed his lips. ‘You seem to be teaching me a lot, Damianos.’

‘Maybe I’m just finding excuses to spend more time with you,’ Damen said casually, fighting the blush he could feel creep up his neck. ‘I’ll race you to the trees.’

Laurent grinned, and barely nudged his horse before she was off like an arrow from a bow, straight and fast heading to the base of the mountains.

‘Cheater,’ Damen narrowed his eyes and spurred his horse on, gaining speed and racing across the plains. It wasn’t enough to catch up to Laurent, though. He was flying across the grass, dust and dirt being kicked up by Aukje behind them.

He slowed down as they approached the treeline, waiting for Damen to arrive before they weaved through the trees and into the forest together in silence.

‘I won,’ Laurent announced a few moments later.

‘You had an unfair advantage.’

‘The only advantages are the ones you do not take yourself.’

‘I don’t…’ Damen trailed off. ‘Sure.’

They drifted to silence again, walking their horses through the trees and following the line of the mountains as the sun began to rise steadily over them, grey light filtering through the clouds and trees overhead. The air grew a little warmer, but was thick with the smell of rain and feeling of anticipation for the impending downpour.

‘For a while, I was not sure you would come back,’ Laurent said softly, and Damen thought he might’ve imagined it, except the look on Laurent’s face was telling him he didn’t.

‘Why not?’ Damen asked. He hadn’t given any indication he wouldn’t, had he? ‘I said I would.’

‘I know you did, it’s just… I was letting you go.’

‘I promised to bring your brother back to you, and you thought I would take it as an opportunity to leave?’

‘Not – seriously. I didn’t think you would, but part of me was sure it was not real.’

A few moments passed before Damen spoke. ‘I think you need to leave Acquitart.’

‘Why would I do that?’ Laurent asked slowly.

‘Vere is growing unstable,’ Damen said. ‘I know you know that, that Orlant brings back news when he leaves, but I think it is time your uncle lost the throne.’

‘You think I could lead? I have not been part of Veretian politics for half my life, and it’s the half that matters.’

‘Vere does not know you’re alive, Laurent. I think your people would take the chance to depose the man running their country into the ground.’

Laurent huffed and shook his head. ‘My people.’

‘Yes. Your people.’

‘I don’t have an army, Damen. It would take more than me and my staff to take down my uncle.’

‘It is not just you and your staff,’ Damen said, touching Laurent’s arm to make him look at him. ‘You have me, and I have…’

‘You have an army.’

‘I have the ability to call one. If we go to Nikandros, he will give us his men, we can send messengers to the kyroi and Ios, and we can help you. If you want to get your throne back, I will support you.’

‘You would do that for me?’

Damen’s face softened at Laurent’s tone, like he couldn’t believe Damen would do such a thing. ‘I would. It’s your throne.’

‘What if I do not want it?’

‘Don’t you?’

Laurent frowned, putting his hand over Damen’s and staring at his glove. ‘What if Vere doesn’t want me?’

‘Vere doesn’t know you.’

‘And you do?’

‘I like to think I do,’ Damen took Laurent’s hands in both of his and kissed the knuckles. ‘Vere will follow you, Laurent. You’re the rightful heir. The golden prince.’

‘I have always thought that was a bit too fitting of a nickname.’

‘One day,’ Damen said with a smile, ‘you could be the golden king.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so.’

Laurent squeezed Damen’s hands, running his thumbs over Damen’s fingers. ‘Thank you.’

‘Do you –’

‘I will think about it,’ Laurent interrupted. ‘I promise. But for now, we should head back. The storm is about to hit.’

Damen looked up through the trees to the sky, clouds steel grey as far as he could see. ‘I don’t think we will be back in time.’

‘I feel like we just got here.’

‘Well, if we’re gonna get wet anyway, we can stay out a little longer, right? And we’re mostly covered.’

Laurent shrugged. ‘I do not mind getting caught by the storm. I just wanted…’

Damen was quiet, watching Laurent expectantly as he waited for the rest of that statement. He was sure he knew what Laurent was going to say, but Damen wanted to hear him say it. ‘Yes?’ he pressed gently.

‘Don’t make me say it.’

‘Why not?’

Laurent pursed his lips, hiding a smile as they made their way through the trees. ‘I wanted to be with you without my guards.’

‘Alone?’

‘Alone.’

‘Whatever will they think,’ Damen teased.

‘Yes,’ Laurent deadpanned, ‘because we will be out here, fucking in the rain.’

Damen laughed, a deep, head thrown back kind of laugh, and gave Laurent a fond look. ‘I sometimes forget you have a sense of humour under all those laces.’

‘I wasn’t joking, get off your horse,’ Laurent shot back, smiling all the same.

Damen went to respond, but as he opened his mouth, felt the first drop of rain on his skin. ‘I think we’d better head back.’

***

The storm came on faster and heavier than they had expected. Damen and Laurent were soaked to the bone by the time they reached the castle gates, but they were buoyant with happiness, and the hair plastered to their faces did nothing to disguise the childlike glee underneath.

‘Jord,’ Laurent called, barely able to catch his breath from laughing. ‘See to the horses?’

‘Of course, Highness,’ Jord replied, brushing the water off himself as he descended the ramparts and followed them quickly into the stables. ‘Pleasant ride?’

‘Very much so,’ Laurent said, slipping off Aukje and wringing his braid over his shoulder. ‘Is the bath run?’

‘Yes, Highness.’

‘Excellent.’

Damen rolled his shoulders as he jumped down from his horse, glad he’d worn a chiton today for the lack of wet clothing he was currently enjoying. ‘I will be upstairs, should you need me,’ he said, beginning to tend to his horse.

‘Oh,’ Laurent dithered a moment, wringing more water from his braid and glancing quickly to Jord. ‘I wondered… may I have a word?’

‘Of course,’ Damen said, following Laurent to the small corridor that ran into the castle. ‘Are you –’

‘I wondered if you might join me,’ Laurent said in a rush.

Damen blinked, shut his mouth, tilted his head. ‘Join you?’

‘In the baths.’

‘You mean – _oh_.’

‘Jord will take care of your horse. You don’t have to –’

‘I would very much like to join you,’ Damen interrupted softly. ‘Lead the way.’

Laurent blushed and turned on his heel, heading to the baths without another word.

They wound through the passages, dripping water in their stead like breadcrumbs to lead them home, reaching the baths in what felt like record time. Maybe Laurent wanted to get in there before he lost his nerve, and Damen couldn’t fault him for that. He felt like he was buzzing in his skin as it was, with merely the suggestion of doing such an intimate thing with Laurent running through his mind.

Laurent was the one who opened the door, waiting impatiently for Damen to follow him through to close it. He slid the lock across as soon as Damen was over the threshold and turned to face him.

For a moment, they seemed to both hold their breaths as anticipation coursed through their veins, and the only noise was rain beating hard against the windows of the baths, and their hearts pounding in their chests.

Again, Laurent made the first move, relaxing his shoulders and resolutely beginning to tackle the laces of his sleeves.

‘Let me,’ Damen murmured, crossing the few steps between them and taking Laurent’s wrist. He was undoubtedly slower and less practiced at this, tangling the free lengths as he drew them through each eyelet, unwrapping Laurent like a gift.

Damen could feel Laurent’s eyes on him as he worked the laces, but he made no noise, had no complaint or suggestion. Maybe it was out of shock or even fear of someone being so close to him, but he watched Damen’s movements with a critical eye, waiting for any signs that his skin would be too close to Damen’s.

‘How am I doing?’ Damen asked, as he moved to Laurent’s other wrist.

‘You’re doing well for someone unused to Veretian garments,’ Laurent said, giving him an encouraging, albeit small, smile.

‘Am I?’

‘Yes. Do not forget the back, too.’

‘Or the throat?’

Laurent sighed and shook his head. ‘I’ll do that.’

Damen nodded. He knew that might be too risky, but he was pleased he was able to do this much. When he was done with the other sleeve, Laurent turned wordlessly and pulled his braid over his shoulder, presenting the back laces. Damen frowned a little, doing his best to be nimble with this ridiculous maze of eyelets, but feeling like he was failing.

‘You’re doing well,’ Laurent repeated. ‘I can get it off from here.’

Damen took that for the gentle dismissal it was and dropped his hands, watching as Laurent finished working the front laces, and pulled the jacket away from his body.

The shirt underneath was also laced, white and almost sheer from the water. It clung to his body, probably loose when dry, and hid little.

It seemed to Damen that Laurent was almost reluctant to remove any more clothing, probably feeling more naked than he ever had in the presence of another person, so Damen decided to take the leap Laurent wouldn’t.

Damen pulled the pin holding his cape at his shoulder, the red fabric dropping to the floor as he placed the pin on the table with the soaps. He next went to his sandals, unlacing them with a practiced hand and placing them nearby. Still, Laurent seemed unwilling to be entirely naked before Damen, so with a small smile and teasing roll of his eyes, Damen pulled the pins holding his chiton together, letting that fall, too.

Damen, now naked as he could be, raised an eyebrow in challenge and stepped towards the table of soaps. ‘What are we using?’

‘My soap,’ Laurent said quietly, joining him at the table and picking up the bottle. ‘Some salts, if you like.’

‘Your soap?’ Damen said, watching Laurent as he poured some of the purple soap from Arles into the steaming bath. ‘Am I special?’

‘That is certainly one way to put it. Salts?’

Damen shook his head. ‘Would you like me to wait for you to finish undressing?’

‘No, it’s fine.’

Permission given, Damen stepped into the bath, taking one side for himself and stretching his legs in front, and arms behind on the bath’s rim. He watched Laurent, hoping it didn’t feel like anything expectant. Not that it could be. Laurent was the epitome of _look but don’t touch_.

Laurent made no show of undressing, either. The gloves came off, not wanting to stain them with mud from his boots, which followed with a swift movement each, placing them beside Damen’s sandals. His pants were deftly unlaced and discarded, leaving him only in the shirt. He paused before removing his final item of clothing, instead heading to a small mirror and brush, taking out the tie from his braid and unwinding his hair.

Damen had admired it for some time, the skill and effort it must take Laurent each day to do. It was longer when removed from the braid, the tips level with his elbows, and as Laurent brushed, Damen imagined running his fingers through it. How soft the golden strands would be between his fingers, beneath his palm as he cupped Laurent’s head and –

No. Damen would not go to that train of thought, not today.

Laurent placed the brush back down, and once again readied himself to finish what he had started. Eyes shut, he pulled his shirt over his head, letting it fall from his fingers to the pile on the floor.

Damen felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, as was Laurent’s beauty.

His skin was pale and clear from blemish and scar, almost glowing in the light coming through the windows. He was muscled, lithe and deceptively strong, but for all that he was nervous, Laurent wasn’t shy about his body. Something about him changed as he stepped towards the bath, entering the water slowly and sinking onto the bench on the other side, far from Damen.

Laurent twined his fingers together under the water, watching them intently in a bid to ignore his new situation, unaware that Damen’s heart was breaking. He looked up at the sound of Damen shifting, the small swells of water lapping at his chest.

‘I –’ Damen stopped, wanting nothing more than to just – ‘I’d give anything to touch you,’ he whispered.

‘I know,’ Laurent replied. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for.’

‘Don’t I? This is as close as we will get to – anything.’

‘And it hurts, but it is not your fault. I would rather have this than nothing.’

‘Would you?’ Laurent asked. ‘You keep saying –’

‘That’s because I mean it,’ Damen said, clenching his fists as he fought himself not to go across the bath to be with Laurent. ‘Stop doubting me. Is it so hard to believe when I say I do not care?’

‘Yes! It’s important –’

‘So are a lot of things. You are the only one who has a problem with this, and I think you’re grasping at the smallest things as an excuse.’

‘It’s not a small thing, it is just _me_.’

‘Laurent.’

‘Damianos.’

Damen huffed. ‘This won’t push me away like you think. I’m here as long as you want me.’

Laurent sighed, pulling his hair over one shoulder and sliding deeper in the water up to his chin. He looked to Damen, his face soft and open for what felt like the first time. ‘I think I will always want you.’

‘It’s a good thing we’re courting, then.’

‘I suppose it is.’

Damen looked down to the water, trailing his fingers over the surface and making small ripples that echoed across to Laurent’s skin, and made his hair wave around his shoulders. ‘You’re very beautiful, Laurent.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurent blushed and turned his head away from Damen’s gaze. ‘I do not know if I thanked you for this soap. It’s very precious to me.’

‘I know.’

Laurent turned back to Damen, resting his head against the edge of the bath and studying him for a moment. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

Laurent’s eyes dropped to Damen’s chest and he raised an eyebrow. ‘Did that hurt?’

Damen looked down to what Laurent meant, at the small golden bar pierced through his nipple. ‘I got over it.’

Laurent hummed and looked back to his hands. ‘I like it.’

‘I was thinking I might get the other one done,’ Damen said thoughtfully, looking contemplatively at his own chest. ‘To match, you know?’

‘Your betrothed would not be opposed.’

‘My betrothed?’ Damen asked, amused. ‘Up until a few minutes ago, you did not even want to say we were courting.’

‘You haven’t asked for permission yet.’

‘From who?’

Laurent shrugged. ‘I was under Jord’s care until I turned eighteen.’

‘I cannot ask Jord.’

‘Why not? The rest of my family is dead.’

Damen huffed and rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll ask Jord, then.’

‘Now, quiet, we’re meant to be relaxing in the bath,’ Laurent said, closing his eyes and settling his position.

‘Fine, I’ll –’

‘Hush.’

‘But –’

‘No. Listen to the rain, Damen.’

Damen pursed his lips, but sunk into the bath a little more, shutting his eyes and focusing on the sounds of the storm outside. The wind had picked up and was hurling rain against the windows, making them rattle slightly in their frames.

It was oddly peaceful.

There was a chance, though, that what Damen was feeling was just… contentment. The solid presence of Laurent beside him, the warmth of the water, and smell of irises filling the air. Even the relative violence of the storm wasn’t putting a damper on his mood, of the surge of happiness that was nestled in his belly.

They couldn’t have been resting in the bath like that for long before there was a knock at the door, because the water had largely kept its temperature.

‘Time to get out,’ Laurent sighed, sliding briefly under the water and back up, slicking his hair back and wringing it out neatly. He frowned when Damen ducked under, but instead when he resurfaced, shook his head like a dog, spraying water everywhere. ‘Why.’

Damen grinned. ‘Barbarian Akielon.’

‘Courtship cancelled,’ Laurent said, climbing from the bath and tossing him a towel. ‘Are there clothes in the alcove?’

‘Ah, no.’

Laurent sighed. ‘I hope the halls are not too cold. Meet me in my room when you’re dressed.’

‘I’ll even knock before I come in,’ Damen said, grabbing his chiton pins and following him to the hall, towels wrapped around their waists as they headed to their respective chambers.

Damen dried off quickly, the chilly air biting at his bath-warmed skin, and pinned on a slightly longer chiton, one that fell to just above his knees. He considered waiting for a moment before he went to Laurent’s rooms, but figured that to play at modesty now was a little hypocritical, considering the situation they’d just been in.

True to his word, Damen knocked on the door, and was received on the other side by Jord, who looked him over with a critical eye.

‘Jord,’ Damen greeted, entering the room. ‘May I ask you something?’

Jord narrowed his eyes. ‘Sure.’

‘May I have your permission to court Laurent?’

Jord blinked. ‘Do you _need_ my permission?’

‘My family is dead,’ Laurent said from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed. ‘You are the next best thing.’

‘Oh,’ Jord said softly. ‘Yeah, you can have my permission.’

‘Great,’ Damen beamed. ‘Thanks.’

‘You can go, Jord,’ Laurent added. ‘Thank you.’

‘Of course,’ Jord bowed quickly and made his way from the room, not sparing a backwards glance at either of them.

‘You wanted to see me?’ Damen asked, closing the door behind Jord.

‘I always want to see you,’ Laurent smiled, standing from his bed and heading for the small table under one of the windows. ‘I have something for you.’

‘For me?’

‘A courting gift,’ Laurent said ruefully, joining Damen where he’d sat on the bed. Whatever it was, Laurent had folded into a piece of deep blue silk that stood out against the stark white of his gloves, which Damen was unsurprised to see had returned.

‘You did not need to get me anything,’ Damen said, taking the small parcel from Laurent and unfolding the fabric.

‘I didn’t,’ Laurent shrugged. ‘Technically, you brought it to me.’

Damen frowned a little in confusion, until he uncovered his gift fully. His eyebrows flew up in shock at the two tusks in his hand. ‘Are these from the sanglier?’

‘The one that almost killed you? Yes.’

‘It did not almost kill me.’

‘You were bleeding and delirious when the others hauled you back. That is close enough.’

Damen picked one up and inspected the decorative motifs delicately carved into the ivory. ‘Did you do this?’

‘I did,’ Laurent took Damen’s hand and turned it, pointing out a particular item in the carving. ‘I hope you do not mind the irises. I thought if we’re going to do this, then I don’t want there being any question about who exactly you’re in it with.’

‘Of course, I don’t mind,’ Damen smiled and slipped the tusk over onto his wrist. ‘I love them, thank you.’

‘I gave some thought to what you said,’ Laurent murmured, watching Damen as he toyed with the second tusk. ‘About going against my uncle.’

‘What did you decide?’ Damen asked, looking up from the carvings.

‘I never wanted to rule,’ Laurent sighed. ‘I watched my parents prepare Auguste and listened to how they would always tell him that Vere came first, that he had a duty to the people to protect them and lead them. I was the spare son, and I was young, and they left me alone to read my books, but they made sure I knew as well.

‘Since I came to Acquitart, I have always been content to let Vere be, to wait out my uncle’s death. Then you came along, and you’ve been telling me how bad things are getting, just like Orlant always does when he comes back from outside the walls. You, a stranger, with no want or need to get me to Arles. Unbiased, but concerned, and… I guess it was a sign.’

‘A sign?’

‘You said you would support me if I chose to go against my uncle,’ Laurent said, rubbing at his face tiredly. ‘That you could get me an army and help get the throne back from _him_.’

‘I can,’ Damen confirmed. ‘I will do everything in my power to help you, Laurent.’

‘Then I have my answer for you.’

***

It had been weeks since Nikandros had seen the rider, Orlant. Months, in fact. He hadn’t expected to see him ever again, but Nikandros knew that when he turned up in his audience chamber at Delpha that something had happened.

‘My lord,’ Orlant greeted, bowing deeply. ‘I bring word from Dame- Prince Damianos.’

‘I expected as much,’ Nikandros sighed. ‘Another letter?’

‘Yes, lord,’ Orlant nodded, reaching into his bag for it. ‘I have been authorised to give you a summary of the contents, if you wish.’

Nikandros took the letter and glanced up at him with a raised brow. ‘Yes?’

‘My lord, Prince Damianos requests you to prepare his rooms, as well as appropriate lodgings for the Prince Laurent of Vere.’

It was all Nikandros could do to hold back a groan. ‘He knows.’

Orlant relaxed and seemed to consciously break his training for dealing with nobility as he shrugged. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘He is doing everything he can.’

 

> _My mysterious host, as it so happens, is the Veretian Prince Laurent._
> 
> _I am going to help to retrieve his throne, and so, will require you to send word to the kyroi and my father to send retinue to Marlas._
> 
> _Orlant is leaving one day ahead of us, and with the small number of staff Laurent has, we will not be far behind, as it makes for light travel._
> 
> _Appropriate lodgings will be required. Preferably joined or close together._
> 
> _Also – a small request. Please have some candied almonds. I have a summer of missed opportunities to make up for._
> 
> _– D._

‘Joined or close lodgings?’ Nikandros asked suspiciously. ‘Have I been replaced as closest friend?’

Orlant grimaced. ‘Not in the way you think.’

‘May I ask for slightly more information?’

‘My lord, they are courting.’

This time, Nikandros didn’t bother holding in his groan. ‘Of course, they are.’


	10. Aletheia

In his letter, Damen had said Laurent only had a few staff that would accompany them to Marlas. Nikandros hadn’t realised exactly how few that was until the day he and Orlant were standing on the ramparts awaiting their arrival, and Orlant had pointed out a group of less than ten riders in the distance.

‘That’s them,’ Orlant said, squinting a little. ‘I would recognise that hair anywhere.’

‘So few?’ Nikandros asked. ‘And no banners?’

‘No one knows he’s alive, Lord,’ Orlant shrugged. ‘They would only draw attention and risk word getting to the King.’

Nikandros watched as they drew closer, signalling to the guards at the gates once he was sure it was Damen. He made his way down the steps to the courtyard, just as the group entered, horse hooves hitting the flagstones loudly.

‘Kyros!’ Damen grinned, jumping down from his horse and making his way in four long strides to embrace Nikandros. ‘It has been too long, my friend.’

Nikandros returned the smile as he thumped Damen on the back. ‘You ran away from me.’

‘Just couldn’t bear to spend three more days on the road with you. I needed a break,’ Damen winked. ‘May I present his Royal Highness, Prince Laurent of Vere.’

Damen gestured behind him to the tall, blond young man, who had just stepped up behind them, leaving his horse in the hands of Orlant. He had bright blue eyes, and the high cheekbones and sharp jaw of an aristocrat – his beauty was obvious, and Nikandros didn’t doubt it was something Laurent knew of himself.

Nikandros was expecting formal words and a sharp mouth, but found himself surprised by the manner Laurent displayed.

He bowed shortly, flicking his eyes to Damen as he stepped up beside him, before smiling towards Nikandros. ‘Kyros,’ he said, his voice smooth and warm as it rolled around the Akielon words. ‘I have heard much about you.’

Nikandros raised an eyebrow to Damen, who shrugged and smiled, almost proudly. ‘No offence, Highness, but I’ve heard little of you,’ he replied, slowly so the prince would catch all the Akielon, but not enough so to seem insulting.

‘I would be more surprised if you had,’ Laurent said, with a small incline of his head. ‘I hope to make a good… impression.’

‘Is that why you’re speaking my language?’

Laurent laughed and switched to Veretian. ‘No, I have been getting bored of only having Damen to speak it with.’

‘Damen taught you?’

‘He was a captive audience.’

‘Oh?’

‘I got…’ Damen snapped his mouth shut. ‘There was an incident.’

Nikandros’ face darkened as he crossed his arms, barely keeping himself from glaring at Laurent. ‘An incident.’

‘ _Not_ my fault,’ Laurent said.

‘It was a boar,’ Damen said, putting a hand to his side, almost subconsciously.

‘You were bested by a boar?’

‘Can we not talk about this right now?’

‘Of course,’ Nikandros conceded. ‘You must be tired. Shall I show you to your chambers?’

‘Are they –’

‘The royal chambers and adjoining, yes.’

Damen nodded. ‘Could you have the baths prepared?’

‘Already are,’ Nikandros waved a hand towards the open castle doors. ‘You know the way?’

‘I do. If you would excuse us, we will come find you in about an hour.’

‘Sure.’

‘If you could have someone direct my guards to the barracks, that would be greatly appreciated,’ Laurent added, touching Damen lightly on the arm to stop him from leaving quite yet. ‘My captain, Jord, can provide any help you may require with additional arrangements, and my physician, Paschal, may be of use to you in whatever capacity.’

‘I will see to it.’

‘Wonderful. I thank you for your hospitality, Kyros.’

Nikandros looked to Damen and raised an eyebrow. ‘You may call me Nikandros.’

Laurent smiled and nodded to Damen. ‘We’ll talk to you soon.’

Nikandros bowed a little as the pair of them left, and he watched them as they climbed the stairs. They were close together, not really touching, but clearly had respect for each other. The way Damen gazed at Laurent, even when he wasn’t being paid attention to, was with obvious adoration that he was doing a bad job of hiding. Smiles like that would get one of them killed if they weren’t careful.

But as they turned the corner of the door and disappeared from sight, Nikandros knew – he _knew_ – Damen would do anything for that young prince. That, of course, meant Nikandros would too.

***

‘I do not know if he likes me,’ Laurent said, sliding into the water with a sigh.

‘Who?’ Damen asked, moving over slightly to give him room. ‘Nikandros?’

‘No, Jord,’ Laurent rolled his eyes. ‘ _Yes_ , Nikandros.’

‘He’s my closest friend and advisor, and I trust him with my life,’ Damen shook his head. ‘You do not need to worry about him. If anything, he’s just wary because I disappeared and came back courting someone. He would be like that even if it _wasn’t_ you.’

‘You think?’

‘I know.’

Laurent hummed and ducked into the water for a moment, running his fingers through his hair, before he popped back up and wiped water off his face. ‘Does he know we’re courting?’

‘I expect Orlant will have told him. Otherwise, I’m sure he figured it out.’

‘Shouldn’t you have been the one to tell him?’

Damen shrugged and idly drew his fingers in circles on the surface of the water. ‘The only person I need to tell myself is my father.’

‘Do you think _he_ will like me?’ Laurent asked quietly.

‘He liked you as a child.’

‘I have grown since then. I’ve… done things.’

‘You do not need to worry about my father, either. Or anyone, really. I don’t care what they think, and I’ll protect you from whatever they decide to throw, if it comes to that.’

‘Really?’

‘Well…’ Damen scratched the back of his neck. ‘Not mud. I don’t really like mud.’

Laurent laughed a little and pushed his hand through the water, sending a wave of it at Damen’s chest. ‘Speaking of mud, your hair is still full of dirt from the road, so hurry up and wash it so we can go deal with Nikandros.’

‘But I want to stay here with you,’ Damen said, leaning his head on his palm and giving Laurent a winning smile.

‘I’m sure the baths are not going anywhere,’ Laurent said drily. ‘We’re expected. Clean yourself, barbarian.’

Damen grinned and splashed Laurent as he stood to exit the baths. ‘Fussy Veretian.’

‘Get used to it.’

‘Can’t wait.’

***

Damen could feel the eyes of the castle staff on him as he and Laurent passed. He had dug his lion pin out from his bags and it glittered brightly under the torches that lined the walls on the way to the audience chamber, where they had been told Nikandros was waiting for them.

Their bath hadn’t taken long, but Nikandros was still pacing the floor when they entered, leaving the three of them – and Jord – in the room together.

‘Took you long enough,’ Nikandros grumbled, gesturing to some chairs under a window. ‘Now, tell me what is going on.’

Damen heard Laurent sigh as he settled into his chair, folding his long, gloved fingers together in his lap. ‘I am taking back my throne from my uncle, hopefully with the backing of Akielos at the request of Prince Damianos.’

‘What right do you have to the throne?’

‘I –’

‘He is the last true heir, Nikandros,’ Damen interrupted. ‘The king is a usurper, he murdered Laurent’s parents.’

Nikandros raised his eyebrows at Damen’s tone. ‘And his brother, the Prince Auguste?’

‘He’s dead,’ Laurent said coolly. ‘My uncle hired assassins to slit my parents’ throats while they slept, and would have done the same to me, had I not left Arles.’

‘Do you have proof?’

‘Of what? My parents’ deaths?’

‘Of your claim to the throne,’ Nikandros said, voice calm as he crossed his arms. ‘Of your lineage. Proof you are indeed the Prince Laurent, not some stranger playing at royalty.’

‘I have my memories of Damianos, his father and brother visiting Arles when I was a boy.’

‘Memories are not material. Do you have real proof?’

‘I have seen his proof,’ Damen said, not quite believing his closest friend and trusted advisor was making Laurent go through this. ‘He is who he says.’

‘And what proof is this?’

Damen narrowed his eyes and turned to Laurent. He would not be the one to speak of Auguste and the fate he suffered in the reception chamber of Acquitart. He would not betray Laurent’s secrets like that. ‘Trust me.’

‘Damianos,’ Nikandros sighed. ‘You are courting this man, yes? Your opinion is biased.’

‘It is not biased.’

‘I have proof,’ Jord said quietly, pulling something from inside his jacket – a piece of parchment, a little battered around the edges and slightly yellowed with age. ‘I was the one who took Laurent from Arles after his parents entrusted me with his safety. A few weeks before they were murdered, they gave me this, saying it would be of use in future.’

‘What is it?’ Laurent asked, taking it from Jord’s outstretched hand. ‘A letter?’

‘I did not ask.’

Laurent frowned as he turned it over to the back to see an intact wax seal that he recognised instantly. ‘This is my father’s emblem.’

‘He also gave me this,’ Jord added, tossing something small and shiny to Laurent. ‘The ring, itself.’

‘Anyone can steal a letter and a ring,’ Nikandros muttered, as Laurent carefully opened the letter and read it quickly.

His eyes might have become a little watery, but it disappeared before Damen could be sure. Laurent took a level breath and passed the letter to Nikandros, along with the ring. ‘Your proof, Kyros.’

Damen expected he’d get to read the letter later, but for now, was satisfied that whatever it said had changed Nikandros’ mind, as his jaw set and he flicked his eyes up to Laurent.

‘Living?’

‘Yes,’ Laurent stood and went to a potted plant in the corner of the room to break off a leaf, and –

_Oh_. Damen understood now. ‘Laurent, you don’t need to,’ he said, even as Laurent pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and undid the small clasp of his travelling glove.

‘I do,’ Laurent said, giving him a small smile. ‘My father told me to.’

‘He did,’ Nikandros said, waving the letter pointedly. ‘Though I cannot say I believe it.’

‘You will,’ Damen murmured, watching as Laurent sat and tugged off his glove, dropping it on his knee. Damen kept his eyes on Nikandros as Laurent touched the leaf, and gold spread steadily over the surface. He wondered if that was what _he_ had looked like when he saw this the first time.

Well, the only time. Laurent never exactly talked about his curse, unless it was in relation to his guilt over his brother’s death, but he made it clear from his arguments with Damen over their courtship that he hated it, and never wanted to take the life from anyone or anything in such a way ever again. That, and he knew it would make him a target, a freak of nature, and the last thing he wanted was to be paraded around. No matter that he was a prince – if he’d disappeared once, he could surely do it again.

Nikandros took the golden leaf from Laurent at Damen’s nod, and tapped it against the hard surface of his chair’s arm. ‘My apologies,’ he said, inclining his head a little in place of a full bow, ‘for questioning you.’

‘I understand your concerns,’ Laurent said, sliding his glove back on, the clasp clicking quietly. ‘Damen trusts easily.’

The side of Nikandros’ mouth quirked up in a half-smile. ‘He does. I sent word to the other kyroi and the King about the… situation. Theomedes is supposed to be in Sicyon so I have asked for his immediate presence here in Marlas.’

‘My father?’ Damen asked. ‘Surely we are capable of doing this ourselves.’

‘Do not be rash, Damianos. You cannot just take the country to war for your Veretian romance without the King’s permission.’

‘How long do we expect for him to take to get here?’

‘The messenger to Sicyon left three days ago. If he leaves immediately, somewhere close to two weeks.’

‘Two weeks?’ Damen repeated. ‘We need to act while we are still sure of the positioning of Vere’s armies.’

‘Damen,’ Laurent said, before Nikandros could begin telling him the errors of his ways again. ‘It does not matter. My uncle probably thinks I’m dead, or at the very least, that I will not be making any moves against him. He does not know I have you. I’ve waited ten years, so two more weeks will not make any difference.’

Damen frowned and crossed his arms. ‘I do not like waiting.’

‘No,’ Nikandros agreed. ‘You don’t. But you’ve got us into situations before after not considering all the factors, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Yes, but ten years is long enough –’

‘Ten years,’ Laurent said, ‘means I have the patience for another two weeks, Damen. Let it go.’

Nikandros raised his eyebrows as he looked between them, waiting for argument from Damen again. When nothing came, he gave a low whistle. ‘I guess that’s settled, then. We should start work on a treaty, so we can move upon the King’s permission, yes? Should keep you occupied, Damen.’

‘Fine,’ Damen sighed. ‘Fine. Tomorrow we begin, but for today, we rest.’

‘Yes, I’m sure those three days were quite straining,’ Nikandros said drily. ‘I’m sure the weeks we spent travelling from Ios have nothing on it.’

‘Well, that is hardly a fair comparison, I like Laurent.’

Nikandros gasped in faux-shock. ‘Exalted, you _wound_ me.’

‘If we’re done here, I would not mind a brief rest before dinner,’ Laurent said, standing from his chair.

‘Of course,’ Nikandros waved for one of the guards at the door. ‘I’d like to keep Damen for a moment longer. Pallas can show you to your rooms.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurent bowed a little and turned to follow the guard from the room, Jord hot on his heels.

When the door closed behind them, Nikandros let out a deep breath, watching Damen opposite him. ‘I don’t like him.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Damen said, yawning and rubbing at his shoulder. ‘You’ll come to.’

‘I’m sure I will, but for now, I’m an unbiased set of eyes.’

‘And what do your eyes see?’

‘May I speak plainly, as a friend?’

‘When have you ever done anything else?’ Damen rolled his eyes. ‘Of course.’

‘Damen,’ Nikandros leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped between his knees. ‘How do you know he’s not just using you? You are a prince, you have an army behind you, and he is a prince without one. An alliance with you, however temporary it may be, would be beneficial to his ambition to regain his throne. What do you get from that?’

‘Peace. Freedom from the threat of war. Vere is weak, and their king is ready to be overthrown by the true heir.’

‘But how do you know he’s not _using_ you?’

‘Because when I first met him, he was content to wait for the King’s death. I suggested reclaiming the throne. I have been to Arles, I’ve seen how –’

‘You were in Arles?’ Nikandros interrupted. ‘Why were you in Arles?’

‘I was… retrieving something for Laurent.’

‘Retrieving what?’

Damen’s tongue darted out to wet his lip as he considered his words. Nikandros, surely, would not think the worst of Laurent for things that happened beyond his control. ‘You have seen his curse.’

‘Yes, and?’

‘I was retrieving… the Prince Auguste.’

Nikandros frowned. ‘Auguste is dead.’

‘You heard the rumour, Nik,’ Damen said quietly, ‘about what the King did to him.’

Damen watched Nikandros work his way over the words, and could pinpoint the moment he understood. ‘It was Laurent.’

‘It was Laurent.’

Nikandros shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face for a few moments. ‘Everyone thought he’d been drugged and encased in gold. That was over ten years ago, Laurent must have been –’

‘About ten, yes. The same time he left Arles.’

‘Do I get the full story?’

‘That is not up to me,’ Damen shook his head. ‘But I will say it was an accident and that I have never seen someone in more pain than when I returned to Laurent with his brother.’

‘Well, that is… unfortunate.’

‘That does not even begin to cover it.’

Nikandros hummed and studied Damen for a moment. ‘Do you think he has the capabilities to rule a country? To be our ally in Vere?’

Damen was quiet for a moment, adjusting his position on the chair. ‘I have every faith in him that he will be a great leader.’

‘That is not exactly an answer.’

‘He’s young, Nik, and he has been living in exile, almost, for half his life. I do not know, but I trust him to ask for help should he need it.’

‘Do you think he will _need_ help?’

Damen sighed, shrugging almost imperceptibly. ‘Everyone needs help, sometimes.’

***

Dinner that night was not a huge affair. Laurent, Damen, and the tiny retinue from Acquitart joined Nikandros in a less-formal dining room, not much bigger than the one at Acquitart, where a variety of Akielon foods were brought out for them. This far in the north, the flavours mingled with those of the province’s Veretian past, and Laurent was surprised to see dishes so heavily influenced by those he’d grown up with in Arles.

Damen, however, was far more enthused about the Akielon specialties he suspected Nikandros had requested from the kitchens for him. The spices and herbs were warm and familiar, and there were almost tears in his eyes as he made his way through the veritable mountain of food he selected. He could feel Nikandros’ eyes on him as he suggested things for Laurent to try, telling him the specifics of the ingredients as far as he knew them.

Dessert seemed to appeal greatly to Laurent, with a selection of fresh fruits, as well as pastries and cakes, and all manner of things drenched in syrup.

The other Veretians seemed equally intrigued by the offerings of Nikandros’ kitchen, but Lazar appeared much more interested in the guard from earlier, Pallas, who was standing in the corner of the room.

Laurent must have noticed this too, because he turned his head and whispered something quickly in Veretian to Lazar, who nodded and averted his eyes. (For the most part – they continued to drift back to him throughout the dinner, but at least his gaze was returned by a steadfast, yet blushing, Pallas.)

With the meal done, and idle conversation completed, people began to leave. First, Paschal, who claimed the excuse of age to escape the room. Next, the guards, who decided they should head to the barracks and be up early in the morning to train, with Lazar sending a final wistful glance to Pallas.

Nikandros looked over to him with a sigh. ‘You may return to the barracks, Pallas.’

‘Thank you,’ Pallas said, bowing in a rush and heading after the others as fast as he could without being obvious.

It was obvious anyway, but no one was going to call him out on it.

‘I hate to love and leave you,’ Nikandros said, standing from the table with a groan, ‘but I want to.’

‘Fair,’ Damen said, standing up after him. ‘Thank you, Nik, for allowing us to come to you.’

‘Where else would you have gone? You got another best friend I should know about?’

‘Yeah, I’m on really great terms with Makedon,’ Damen joked. ‘That griva is something else.’

‘Something else is about right,’ Nikandros muttered. ‘See you in the morning. Laurent, it’s been… good to meet you.’

‘You too. Thank you for your hospitality towards my men and I,’ Laurent said.

Nikandros bowed a little stiffly and left them to it, another pointed look back to Damen as he did so.

‘So,’ Damen said, as he and Laurent turned and headed upstairs after Nik. ‘How are you liking Marlas?’

‘It’s been a long time since I was outside the protection of Acquitart,’ Laurent replied, absently trailing his fingers along the masonry bannister beside them. ‘It is very… strange.’

‘A good strange?’

‘I have not decided. This is unexplored territory for me, and I do not feel like I can just go to Arles and assume the position of king.’

‘Why not? It is your throne.’

‘It is my brother’s throne. I was not built for this, so I do not know… anything, really.’

‘Laurent, you will do perfectly. I can help you, we can build a council to help you, we can –’

‘You cannot guarantee that the people will just accept it – accept _me_. What if they see _me_ as the usurper? A pretender to the throne?’

‘They will see you are not,’ Damen said, as reassuringly as he could. ‘You grew up in Arles, you know how to run palaces. This is the same, just a larger scale.’

‘I don’t –’ Laurent sighed as they came to a stop outside the chambers Nikandros had prepared for them. ‘It’s just a lot.’

‘I know. You will be amazing, Laurent.’

Laurent gave him a small smile, taking a step back from where they had somehow only been inches apart. ‘I’m going to bed. If you need me, you know where I am.’

Damen nodded. ‘Sleep well,’ he said, as Laurent slipped into his rooms.

It was going to be a lot harder to reinstate him to the throne if Laurent himself didn’t believe he could rule.

***

‘The people would never accept Vere as part of Akielos,’ Nikandros said for the third time, ‘and Akielos will never be part of Vere. The best we can do is use a possible annexation as a selling point to the kyroi.’

‘We cannot lie to the kyroi,’ Damen protested. ‘And I cannot lie to my father.’

‘We do not have a choice.’

‘We need to give them _something_ , otherwise they almost definitely will not support us going forward.’

‘They will not accept an offer of permanent peace?’ Laurent asked. ‘What else can I possibly offer them?’

‘Delpha has always been contested ground,’ Nikandros said slowly. ‘You could relinquish any enduring claims to it, which would avoid any further bloodshed over it. Some of the kyroi lost sons and fathers to the last battles when your uncle tried to remove it from Akielon hands. Again.’

‘What if Vere offered compensation? Relinquishing historic claim on Delfeur can only go so far if future rulers decide to ignore that clause of the treaty, so for at least the length of my reign, Vere will make no attempt on Delfeur. I can offer compensation to Akielon families touched by loss from the battle to hold it, and even send a portion of Vere’s armies to be under Akielon control as a gesture of trust.’

‘You would sacrifice part of your own army?’ Nikandros asked incredulously. ‘Why?’

‘If they are under your command, they cannot attack you,’ Laurent shrugged. ‘The kyroi might think I’ll betray you, so surely that would help in quashing that fear.’

‘That is not a bad idea, but I’m not convinced it would be enough.’ Damen sighed, one hand on his hip and the other in his hair as he paced the length of the room. ‘Trade between Vere and Akielos has always been… limited. Merchants have not felt safe travelling across the borders, not when their friends or they, themselves, are getting attacked. What if we made a formal agreement of free trade?’

‘Would _that_ be enough? Delfeur, a free trade agreement, and compensation for my uncle’s actions?’

‘I think what it would come down to would be your marriage to Damen,’ Nikandros said with a shrug. ‘Land and trade is a good start, but when – _if_ – you are married, what happens to the thrones? Again, Vere and Akielos cannot and will not ever accept their joining as one. Alliances and merges are very different.’

‘You’re saying we should not marry,’ Damen said quietly. ‘Right?’

‘No, I’m saying you should be prepared that if you do marry, when you take the throne from your father, you will be based in Ios, and he will be in Arles. I just do not think that sounds particularly conducive to a strong marital relationship.’

‘What if we moved the capitals? I could be based in Marlas, Laurent in Ravenel.’

‘Oh, so now you want to ignore the years of tradition and move _here_?’ Nikandros rolled his eyes. ‘Damen, seriously consider what you’re saying here. The king’s seat is Ios. Vere’s is Arles.’

‘The king can rule from anywhere, though.’

‘Damen.’

‘What if…’ Laurent started, feeling the eyes of the other two men in the room on him. ‘What if I was not the king?’

‘Laurent, we’ve been over this,’ Damen said. ‘You will be a great king. We are not leaving your uncle on there.’

‘No, that’s not – that’s not what I’m saying,’ Laurent looked up from where he was drumming his fingers on the table. ‘What if Auguste was king?’

Damen blinked. ‘I don’t want to be too blunt here, Laurent, but Auguste is dead.’

‘We don’t know that.’

‘He’s made of gold.’

‘That does not mean he’s dead,’ Laurent stood, going across to where he’d left the golden leaf he’d made a few days ago upon his arrival to Marlas. ‘This is magic. It’s a curse, and curses can be broken. What if… what if I can bring him back?’

Damen and Nikandros exchanged a look. ‘Do you think you can?’ Nikandros asked.

‘I don’t know. My mother used to tell me the wise men from the mountains bordering Vask were the ones that told us of our gifts. What if they have the answer to this?’

‘Why haven’t you sought them out before?’

‘I was young and afraid,’ Laurent said simply. ‘Damen won’t be king until his father vacates the throne. That could be years away, so what if I use that time to try and fix this? I made attempts at reversal when Damen left for Arles but nothing happened, so perhaps more time would be of use. It would solve the problem of what happens to the throne. My brother would be king, and I could be in Ios with Damen – alliance held.’

‘We are doing this on condition of _you_ being king,’ Nikandros shook his head. ‘Not on the idea that you could bring your brother back from the dead to rule as king.’

‘There needs to be something else to affirm this treaty, and that is all I can come up with.’

‘Well, that will definitely not work for the kyroi. It’s an interesting thought, but we cannot base a treaty on _maybe_ s.’

‘Either way, we will find a way to make it work. If that means I’m in Arles and Damen is in Ios, then that’s just how it is.’

‘It’s not a problem for now. We need to get this thing done.’

‘So, Delpha, trade, and Laurent,’ Damen said, ignoring Nik and Laurent both, and ticking things off on his fingers. ‘An alliance and ultimate peace with Vere.’

‘Tell the kyroi I’m young and have no idea how to rule a country,’ Laurent added. ‘If you institute Damen as an advisor, or give me Akielon councillors, then I am entirely in your hands, and so is Vere and a portion of her armies.’

‘They will like that. Maybe not the Veretian soldiers when the battles for Delpha are fresh in many minds, but everything else,’ Nikandros said, pointing his chin out at Damen. ‘Thoughts?’

‘It’s crazy and I still do not know if it will be enough,’ Damen said honestly, ‘but it could work.’

***

They’d been at Marlas for almost a week when the king finally turned up. It was with great ceremony that the gates were opened, standard bearers charging through the gate, and announcing the king’s imminent arrival.

The man himself jumped off his horse the instant it stopped moving and embraced his son. ‘Damianos,’ he grinned. ‘How are you, my boy?’

‘I am well,’ Damen replied, and from where Laurent was standing a few men behind him, he could see exactly where he’d got his curls and his height. ‘I expect you got Nikandros’ message?’

‘I did,’ Theomedes said, turning to Nikandros. ‘Kyros, you gave little away.’

‘Apologies, Exalted,’ Nikandros bowed. ‘That was more for the secrecy of _why_ I sent word, and less to confuse you.’

‘Quite alright. Shall we go inside and you can explain to me what this is about?’

‘I can show you almost immediately,’ Damen said. ‘If you would allow it.’

Theomedes frowned a little, but nodded. ‘I’ll allow it.’

Damen turned and jerked his head a little towards Laurent. _Come here._

The men around Laurent parted and he walked forwards to stand between Damen and Nikandros. ‘Exalted,’ he murmured, bowing in the Akielon style Damen had recently taught him.

‘Father,’ Damen said, touching the back of Laurent’s wrist, the single point of contact calming them both. ‘May I present to you the Prince Laurent of Vere.’


	11. Kairos

‘Shall I make an assumption here?’ Theomedes asked, as the door to the royal receiving room was shut.

Damen exchanged a look with Laurent, and Nik behind him. ‘Sure.’

‘You’re courting, are you not?’

‘Depends how you’re going to react if I say yes,’ Damen said. ‘But yes.’

For all the apparent rage he’d come into the room with, Theomedes sighed loudly and sat heavily on one of the chairs. ‘We knew this day would come.’

‘We?’

‘Aleron, Hennike, and myself – and your mother, of course.’

Damen opened his mouth and snapped it closed again, at a loss for words.

Laurent took it upon himself to speak in his place. ‘My apologies, Exalted, but I do not understand.’

‘I was good friends with your parents,’ Theomedes explained. ‘They knew they would not get a peaceful death, and I was very sorry to hear of their passing, and that of your brother.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurent said, still confused about… everything. ‘What do you mean by “this day”? The day I would ask for your help in taking back my throne? The day it would be announced Damen and I were intending to marry?’

Theomedes smiled a little. ‘Both. You were enamoured with each other as children. We had a bet going how old you would be for your first kiss, but,’ Theomedes’ smile turned sad, ‘I’m the last alive, so I think I win by default.’

‘Oh.’

‘I must apologise for not realising you still lived. Your parents entrusted me with a secret location you would flee to, but we were never able to find it and help you.’

‘I understand,’ Laurent said. ‘Damen managed to stumble upon Acquitart, quite by accident.’

‘I didn’t, my horse did,’ Damen shrugged. ‘But all this is beside the point of whether you will allow me the troops to retake Arles and reinstate Laurent as king.’

‘I’m surprised you have not already tried,’ Theomedes raised an eyebrow and glanced to Nikandros. ‘Your doing, no doubt?’

Nikandros grinned. ‘A little. Laurent helped.’

‘He’ll be good for you, son,’ Theomedes laughed. ‘I expect you’ve written up some form of treaty? Terms of agreement for how to proceed if Arles is captured?’

‘We did. It kept Damen entertained for a few days,’ Nikandros nodded to the table where the treaty had been written up. ‘The men can be ready to march tomorrow morning if you find it suitable.’

‘Have the other kyroi been consulted?’

‘Word has been sent to them, but they will not reach Marlas in time.’

‘You intend to do this with only your men, and those I’ve brought from Ios and Sicyon? No other back up? To march the length of Vere and attack Arles?’

‘We want to do this as peacefully as possible,’ Damen said. ‘I was in Vere, I rode from the border to Arles, and I have seen things myself. The majority of the King’s troops are in Arles, but the lords hold much of their own at home.’

Theomedes groaned and rubbed his eyes. ‘Before I ask if you think now is a good time to rid Vere of its king, I want to know what, exactly, you were doing in _Arles_ of all places? What possessed you to ride that far into Vere, Damianos?’

Damen blushed and went to answer, before Laurent cut him off. ‘He was there getting my brother, Auguste.’

‘Auguste?’ the King asked, confused. ‘He’s not..?’

‘He’s not alive, no. He’s – my brother is a statue, Exalted.’ Laurent turned to Jord, who was standing in the corner of the room, so silently he’d almost been forgotten. ‘The letter, please.’

Jord approached, handing it to Theomedes with a deep, Veretian bow, before he returned to his spot by the door.

Theomedes read it quickly and looked up. ‘Damen has seen a demonstration of this?’

‘I have,’ Damen confirmed. ‘As has Nik.’

‘I will not ask you to do it again,’ the King said, folding the letter carefully. ‘Your brother is now gold?’

‘He is,’ Laurent agreed.

‘By your hand.’

‘Yes.’

‘My son went to retrieve the body of your brother. That is very noble of him. Reckless, stupid, and dangerous, but noble. I commend you on a successful extraction of a man behind enemy lines, Damianos.’

‘Thank you,’ Damen inclined his head in place of a bow. ‘I did it as a courting gift.’

Theomedes’ face softened. ‘Of course, you did.’

‘But to answer your other question, yes. I believe now is the best time to strike. Vere is unstable, but not enough so that it will break out into war, civil or otherwise, before we reach Arles. It’s falling apart from the very top down, so until the King crumbles completely, it should be easy to reach Arles with no major battles. The nobles are seeking to protect themselves. I do not think they will go to the King’s aid if they see us marching.’

‘I will not allow you to march in the morning,’ Theomedes said, a smile quirking the side of his mouth at the fall of Damen’s expression. ‘I will look over the treaty this evening and have a decision for you tomorrow. Any changes or agreements will be dealt with then, and perhaps the _next_ morning, you can go. Does this satisfy you?’

‘Yes,’ Damen nodded.

‘I know your thoughts. Prince Laurent?’

‘Yes,’ Laurent said. ‘That works well for me.’

‘Excellent,’ Theomedes said, standing from his chair. ‘Nikandros, I expect you had the baths prepared in anticipation of my arrival.’

‘Of course,’ Nikandros said with a small bow. ‘Take the time you need.’

Theomedes disappeared with a swift nod, the three younger men left staring at the spot he’d so recently been in.

‘So,’ Nikandros said. ‘Guess that deals with that.’

***

‘You don’t seem worried he will say no,’ Laurent said that night, when he and Damen were lying on Damen’s bed in the chambers he’d been moved to. They had their legs dangling off different sides, heads close, but not too close, together. ‘Or that he will somehow take it upon himself to tell my uncle of our plans.’

‘He would not do that,’ Damen said, turning his head a little to look at Laurent’s temple a few inches away. ‘It would not even cross his mind as an option.’

‘But turning us down?’

Damen shrugged as best he could. ‘He knows it’s for the best. I gave him a detailed rundown of everything I saw on the way to and from Arles, and he agrees the positioning of troops and the mood of the people would work in our favour.’

‘And the treaty? What if –’

‘Laurent,’ Damen interrupted gently. ‘It’s fine. He won’t turn us down. I think the most he will do is want a finer point on the clauses of the treaty. We will get back your throne.’

‘Auguste’s throne,’ Laurent mumbled.

‘No, yours. There is no guarantee Auguste can be brought back, as well as that would work for everyone. We’re doing this with the assumption that you will be the one sitting on the throne at the end of it, and you’ll be amazing.’

Laurent rolled onto his side and looked down at Damen. ‘You have a lot of faith in me, don’t you?’

‘Of course, I do. Why would I not?’ Damen asked, cocking his head with a smile. ‘You have the mind for it.’

‘Oh, I do, do I?’

‘You cannot tell me you spent years in Acquitart, surrounded by books on the histories of wars, and didn’t…’ Damen trailed off, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. ‘I taught you Akielon by reading books about military tactics and law.’

Laurent blushed. ‘You did.’

‘You _were_ coming up with a plan, weren’t you?’ Damen gave a surprised laugh and sat up sharply. ‘Was this your plan all along? To get me to use the armies of Akielos to fight your uncle?’

‘You would think so, wouldn’t you?’ Laurent sighed. ‘No, this wasn’t my plan. I was quite content to wait for him to die, but those books would have been useful in knowing where I stood in taking the throne back. I didn’t think I would be doing it so soon, much less with your help.’

‘But you wanted to get the throne back.’

‘I knew that anyone my uncle left it to would be as bad – or worse – than he is. I never had the confidence to actually put anything into motion until you showed up and were… well. You.’

‘So –’

‘I’m not using you, Damen. I know looking back to that particular moment it might seem like it, but I’m not. I could never do that when you have given me so much already.’

Damen raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. ‘Have I? Like what?’

Laurent, seeing that Damen might be fishing for compliments, rolled his eyes and smiled. ‘You reminded me that life was an option, that I could go after things instead of waiting for them to drop into my hands. You’ve given me back the world, Damen, and yourself with it.’

‘And I wish I could give you more, still.’

‘You’re everything I never knew I needed, and I do not know if I can ever repay you for it.’

‘You don’t need to,’ Damen said, taking Laurent’s hands and rubbing the fabric of his gloves, almost sadly. ‘I have _you_. Even if I cannot have all of you, I would rather this than nothing.’

‘So would I,’ Laurent murmured. ‘What’s going to happen if you end up in Ios, and I’m in Arles?’

‘That’s something we will not have to worry about for years. We will deal with it when it happens.’

‘But –’

‘Laurent.’

‘Not a problem for now, got it.’

***

The biggest surprise they got the next morning was not the king deciding against waging war on Vere, but that he signed the treaty without any changes, and praised them for their diplomacy and speed in hammering out the details.

Damen, said Theomedes, was to lead the men, Laurent at his side, and Nikandros as his second in command. This did not come as a surprise. Laurent, obviously, couldn’t be put any lower in the chain of command, seeing as he was the reason they were doing this, and Damen and Nik had been going into battle together since they were old enough to be allowed. The three of them, Theomedes explained, would be unstoppable.

The second surprise of the morning was Theomedes carefully shaking Laurent’s hand and granting him official permission to court the Prince Damianos.

As he walked away, leaving Laurent and Damen standing amongst the orange trees in the gardens, Laurent was almost frozen in place, only his eyes able to follow Theomedes as he wandered off with his guards. ‘Did I imagine that?’ he asked, after a few moments opening and shutting his mouth like a fish.

‘I don’t think so,’ Damen said, only slightly less shocked than Laurent. He had figured his father approved, but he didn’t know he’d do _that_. ‘But it’s nice, right?’

‘I… yes, of course. I do not understand why he would approve so much.’

‘Our parents had a bet. I think he wants to make it official and win.’

‘I wonder what was at stake.’

‘We will have to ask him at some point. But first,’ Damen said, hand on the small of Laurent’s back to turn him in the opposite direction, ‘we need to get you to the armoury.’

‘The armoury?’ Laurent asked, going along with Damen anyway.

‘We are going to war, and in war, you need to be prepared. I’m not losing you to a stray arrow.’

‘Oh.’

They walked quietly through the rest of the gardens, heading towards the courtyard and access to the armoury and barracks. They were barely acknowledged by the soldiers running around, most too busy to notice them there, others used to Damen’s lack of formality with his men in situations like this.

‘I do not know if Nik has any Veretian armour,’ Damen muttered to himself, going to duck into the armoury, and almost colliding with Jord coming out, a small pot of something in his hands.

‘Sorry,’ Jord muttered. ‘Busy in there.’

‘Unfortunate. Laurent needs armour.’

‘Don’t worry. I already have some for him.’

‘You do?’ Laurent asked.

‘I’ve just brought it up to your rooms. I was intending to have it ready before you came back,’ Jord said, a slight blush rising on his skin as he began heading towards the inside of the fort, pausing to wait for them to follow.

Another short, silent journey saw the three of them in Laurent’s chambers, a beautiful set of armour scattered in pieces around the room – on the floor, on the chair, on the table, and the main chest piece resting on the foot of his bed.

‘This –’ Laurent ran his finger down the filigree carved into the edges, letting it linger just above the bright, golden starburst in the centre of the chest plate. ‘This is Veretian.’

‘Yes,’ Jord agreed.

‘I recognise the star,’ Laurent murmured. ‘This belonged to Auguste.’

‘It did.’

‘Where did you get it?’

‘I took it with us when we left Arles after… everything,’ Jord picked up a gauntlet, rubbing idly at an invisible mark on the metal. ‘I knew that one day you would need to go back, and you should look the part when it happened. Also, your uncle likely would have had it destroyed, and I – I could not let him do that.’

‘Damen,’ Laurent said, after a few moments. ‘Could you please embrace Jord for me?’

‘Absolutely,’ Damen nodded, wrapping his arms tightly around Jord before he could protest.

‘Jord, you have saved my life probably too many times, you risked yourself to retrieve Auguste for me, and you saved the only other tangible thing I will ever have of him. I cannot thank you enough.’

‘You do not need to thank me,’ Jord said, his voice slightly muffled by Damen’s chest. ‘I do it because I consider you a friend, and that is what friends do.’

‘And you are certainly a very good friend,’ Laurent said decisively. ‘You can let him go, Damen.’

Damen released a reddened Jord, and surveyed the metal around the room. He picked up something else, delicate and beautiful and looking far too breakable in his hands. ‘I suppose this was Auguste’s, too?’

‘Yes,’ Jord confirmed. ‘Another thing I took with us, in case Laurent ever needed to look the part.’

‘Well,’ Damen said, turning to face Laurent, holding the circlet to him. ‘We do have an official dinner to attend tonight.’

***

When it came time for dinner, Laurent and Damen walked into the great hall and down the long centre aisle, with the eyes of every man and woman filling the tables on them. It wasn’t hard to understand why, when they looked every inch the royalty they were.

Laurent had apparently prepared for this occasion, and had brought with him a fine jacket, midnight blue with limited decoration that set off his eyes, and made his skin almost glow. The circlet he’d done his best to hide amongst his hair, but the thin band across his forehead could not be disguised.

His simple regality was paired with Damen’s, who in a clean, white chiton and fresh red cape, pinned with his ever-present lion’s head, didn’t look much different from usual. He had, however, donned the carved boar tusk bracelets from Laurent, and borrowed something from his father – nestled amongst his dark curls were the leaves of a golden laurel crown, albeit smaller than the king’s.

They climbed the few steps to the dais and front table, Damen beside Nikandros, and Laurent next to him. Food had already started to be brought out, and the tables were laden with it, a feast for all the senses. The colours of the artfully arranged food were bright, the smells of different spices filled the air, and when they eventually began to eat, it tasted better than almost anything either Damen or Laurent had eaten for weeks.

A few of the men in the hall approached the table, bowing respectfully low for the royals and kyros before them, and detailed exactly how they would make Akielos proud, and how they would fight to return Vere’s rightful king to the throne. That shocked Laurent a little each time someone said it, and Damen could feel him go stiff in his chair, like he would never get used to it, almost like he wasn’t sure he deserved their loyalty.

After the desserts, Laurent retired early, leaving Damen in the hall with his father and best friend, no doubt discussing strategy or maybe jokes at Damen’s expense, if his blush and Nikandros’ wine-fuelled mischievous giggling were anything to go by.

It was all getting a little overwhelming. Tomorrow would mark the countdown to his reign as king, assuming everything went well, whereas mere months ago – and it was strange to think it had only been _months_ – he’d been sitting in his crumbling fort, making outlandish plans and dreaming of his uncle’s head on a pike.

Now, Damen had brought him out of the shadows and into the light. He had a concrete plan, an army behind him, and a man he was almost certain he was falling for. All they had to do was make it through the month, and quietly seat Laurent on the throne.

But as is with all things that seem too good to be true, they often are.

***

In the weeks that they’d been marching, Laurent had felt himself fall steadily deeper for Damen, and he was almost completely sure that Damen was experiencing the same. They slept in the same tent when they made camp, almost the same bed, too. It was like they could both feel something coming but didn’t know what, and wanted to keep the other close, just in case. The air was shifting, like a storm building on the horizon, and it was echoed by a growing hollowness in the pit of Laurent’s stomach.

It could’ve been some cosmic force telling him to prepare for whatever it was, but it could’ve also just been that his uncle wasn’t really being considered the King anymore.

As they had stopped on the edges of towns, or drifted past villages, word of Laurent’s return had reached the ears of Veretian men, and some had decided to join the fight and follow Laurent. These men – all the men – had taken to calling the King simply “the Regent”.

He was only holding the throne while Laurent and Auguste were gone, and now – well. Laurent might never have been first in line for the throne, he might never have considered that he would need to lead, or ever think he would be able to find his way back to Arles, but he had.

And now, after such a long journey north, they had finally arrived at the outskirts of the capital.

It had been ten long, almost empty, years since he’d been here last. Then, he had been fleeing in fear, filled with grief for his brother that would go improperly processed until he’d been made a courting gift of Auguste’s golden body. He had left as a boy with nothing, no one but a few sworn guards, and he returned now as a man, tempered like a knife with patience and rage.

They could see the lights of the main castle now, even from where they were in the distance. It made an impressive figure against the black of the night, and made Laurent hold his breath a little.

Damen drew Bucephalus to a stop beside Laurent, his eyes shining in the light of the moon and their army’s torches. ‘Laurent?’ he asked. ‘Are you okay?’

‘It has been a long time,’ Laurent said quietly, turning from Damen to the city before them. ‘I never thought I would come back, not while he was living.’

‘I know,’ Damen said, ‘but you have me, and you have all these men that believe in you. We will support you.’

‘I don’t want anyone to die for me.’

‘They might not need to.’

Laurent frowned, thinking maybe his eyes were deceiving him. They were still a little away from the town surrounding the main castle of Arles, having planned to stop for the night and finish this tomorrow during the day, but it seemed that there was light coming towards him. Not just one light, one flame, but many.

‘Are they here to attack?’ he asked, gripping the reins of his horse a little tighter. They had faced very little resistance on their way up to Arles, and Laurent had really been hoping for that trend to continue.

‘I don’t think so,’ Damen said slowly.

As the light drew closer, they could see these were townspeople, unarmed and carrying only their torches. They stopped a little away, with a couple of people breaking off to come closer.

‘I’ll be right back,’ Damen said, sliding off his horse and going to meet them with Nikandros at his side before Laurent could stop either of them.

Moments later, they were on their way back, joined by a couple of people from the group. ‘What is this?’ Laurent asked suspiciously, staying put on his horse.

‘They’re lighting a path for us to the castle,’ Damen said, mounting his horse next to Laurent. ‘They want you as their king, Laurent. They’re not going to fight against you.’

Laurent blinked in surprise and watched as the group of torches started spreading out, forming a line clearly going into the town. ‘Send a scout.’

Damen waved a hand and a pair of riders from behind them sped towards the torches, disappearing from sight.

It was a tense few minutes while they waited for their return, but when they did, they spoke quickly in Akielon, a little too quickly for Laurent to pick up. ‘What did they see?’ he asked.

‘They said it’s true. The path is clear,’ Damen said, nodding and thanking them as they joined the other riders further back. ‘It leads all the way to the gates of the castle.’

‘To the gates?’

‘That’s what they said,’ Damen nodded. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘What do you think I should do?’ Laurent asked quietly. ‘Should we consider this a trap and go with our plan to attack tomorrow?’

‘I don’t think it’s a trap,’ Damen said, echoing his earlier sentiment. ‘I think the people just want their golden prince.’

‘I am not the golden prince.’

‘You are,’ Damen smiled. ‘You have the touch of gold, and your very hair shines like it in the sun. They are not afraid of you, they want you to be their king.’

Laurent studied Damen for a moment. He’d had time to get used to it now, but the thought still sent an echo of shock through him whenever it was mentioned. Eventually, he nodded, nudging his horse gently into action. ‘Let’s go storm the castle.’

Damen laughed quietly, following him from a few steps behind.

It gave Laurent comfort to know he was there. He didn’t know if he would’ve been able to make his way so calmly through the streets, becoming cobbled the further in they got. The sound of his horse was the only noise against the dead of night and the hushed, awed whispers of those lining the way to the castle.

Laurent was wearing Auguste’s – _his_ – armour, the golden starburst emblem of the Crown Prince glittering in the torchlight, and evoking memories of better times in those old enough to remember it.

Here, in this moment, Laurent knew what he was doing was right. He may have been ousted from his birth right, may even have directly contributed to it, but he was here, and he was fighting to take it back. He was showing these people that he was prepared to fight to lead them from the path of destruction his uncle had started, because he had.

They’d seen it up and down the way to Arles. Villages starving and begging them for food, offering to sell their own children as slaves, hoping it would get them better lives than what they were faced with at home. Some villages had begun fighting each other, pillaging and stealing what meagre resources they had. Laurent wanted to fix it, wanted to help his people, and maybe that was why they had decided to let him and the Akielon army pass through undisturbed. They wanted him, _needed_ him, to put an end to what his uncle had caused.

‘Damen?’ Laurent called, immediately feeling Damen reach his shoulder. He didn’t turn as he spoke in soft Akielon. ‘I’m scared.’

‘You don’t need to be,’ Damen replied in the same. They could see the gates now, and the soldiers running across the top of the ramparts with their own torches. ‘I’m here.’

Laurent reached out, Damen’s hand quickly squeezing his own. He was glad he wasn’t alone in this. Even without the army, even with just Damen, he knew he would be okay, even if the pit in his stomach had turned into a boulder. Laurent stopped a little back from the gates and looked up to the soldiers at the top.

He was about to ask them to open it, but he didn’t even need to. The soldier bowed, signalled for the gates to open, and that was it. They were in.


	12. Arete

Through their journey from Marlas to Arles, their army had met virtually no resistance. They were faced with a couple of uprisings from towns that had been looked upon with favour by the Regent; those still loyal to him, even though he was running Vere into the ground, but they had been taken care of with little to no casualties from Damen and Laurent’s men.

Even the outskirts of Arles had let them in, going so far as to light the path there. The townspeople, it seemed, were glad to have him there. Even the guards on the walls of Arles’ palace, as decorative and unfortified as they were, let them in. They had opened the door for Laurent, and he had felt that something couldn’t be right. He put it down to nerves because they had come so far, and now they were here – they were going to take Arles and the throne.

Turned out that while guards of the Regent had been on their side, it was very few. It might’ve been why they had been placed at the gates.

The Regent _wanted_ them to come in.

One moment, the courtyard was empty and devoid of life, the next it was swarming with soldiers swathed in the violent, bloody red of the Regent.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Damen swore, pulling his sword from its sheath at his side and turning to Nikandros. ‘Keep Laurent safe if anything happens to me.’

‘Nothing is going to happen to you, we can beat them, they’re just soldiers,’ Laurent muttered, pressing himself as close to Damen as he dared. ‘Plan?’

‘The men will take care of this, we’re going to kill your uncle.’

‘We cannot kill him, not yet,’ Laurent said, following Damen as he signalled for the men to break, and another group to come with them.

‘Why not?’ Damen asked, swinging his sword and cutting down two men that charged towards them.

Laurent darted a few feet ahead and engaged in combat with a soldier definitely not prepared to face him. With his sword covered in a light sheen of blood, he turned back to Damen. ‘I’m putting his head on a pike.’

Damen grinned. ‘We can arrange that.’

As they made their way into the palace, the corridors were littered with screaming nobles and their pets, soldiers bursting through doorways and seeming to come out of nowhere. These soldiers were better trained than their counterparts in the courtyard below, probably because they were tasked with protecting the inhabitants of the palace’s apartments.

Here, they were given a challenge. These men were happy to kill royalty, and were certainly doing their best, though they, perhaps, had not expected Damen and Nikandros to fight together as they did.

In his peripheral vision, Laurent caught glimpses of their synchronicity and the way they seemed to almost anticipate each other’s moves, finishing off opponents the other had started. Laurent may not have known as much about Damen’s military exploits as he probably should have, but he realised from how they moved together, that he and Nikandros had no doubt been doing this since they were old enough to hold sticks and playfight fake enemies.

Laurent didn’t want to describe it as a dance, but they weaved around each other far too easily for it to be anything other than. He wondered if maybe one day he and Damen would be like this – warrior kings that struck fear into those opposing them.

Damen and Nikandros were certainly doing a good job of it now. It was clear in the eyes of the soldiers rounding the corners that they were regretting their choice to come and pick a fight with the two huge, bloody Akielons.

As it was, Jord and Laurent were barely getting any action where they were in position behind them, because Damen and Nikandros were having little trouble mowing their way through the onslaught. Blades flashed under the torches of the corridors, blood pooling in their wake on the pristine floors.

‘Where do we find him?’ Damen called, slashing the throat of another Veretian soldier and spinning round to face Laurent and Jord. ‘Where would he be? His chambers?’

‘Too obvious,’ Jord said, watching warily as a new group of soldiers appeared at the end of the hall. ‘Throne room, I’d say.’

‘How do we get there?’

‘I’ll lead, you follow me.’ Jord firmed his grip on his sword’s handle and rushed past Damen to beside Nikandros, who was poking a floored Veretian with the tip of his blade. ‘Let’s go!’

Jord led their group, including Lazar and Orlant, down the corridor and successfully through the herd of soldiers that were barrelling towards them. It seemed they had been itching for a fight, jumping in front of Damen and Nikandros, and cutting down the men without a second thought. They were fast and well trained, clearly not have been wasting their time in Acquitart.

They turned right at the end of the corridor, and continued down through a series of other, identical ones, making light work of anyone that stepped into their path.

‘I don’t think he’s here,’ Jord said, barely puffed, as they reached a pair of tall, ornately decorated doors, with no guards in sight. ‘This has to be a trap.’

‘One way to find out,’ Lazar muttered, wiping the flat of his blade on his pants with a grimace.

‘Even if it’s not, and he’s in there, we cannot just turn away on the possibility it might be a trap,’ Nikandros said, turning to Damen. ‘We’re here now, right?’

Damen hummed and twirled his sword. ‘Laurent, what do you want to do?’

‘I think he’s in there,’ Laurent said lowly, glaring at the doors. ‘I can feel his… _rot_.’

‘So?’

‘Open the doors.’

Damen nodded and waved forward two of the Akielon soldiers that had been following them. ‘Open them,’ he said in Akielon. ‘But be careful; this could be a trap.’

They nodded grimly and pushed the doors open slowly. No one immediately came rushing towards them, no one shot any arrows or threw any knives.

But the room wasn’t deserted.

Flanked by their men, Damen and Laurent went carefully into the throne room, eyes scanning the walls for anywhere people could come from, because surely, the Regent would not have seated himself simply on the throne with only a few guards around him.

‘Nephew,’ he greeted, face blank as his voice echoed through the hall. ‘Look at you, coming to steal my throne.’

‘It’s not yours,’ Laurent replied, gripping his sword tightly as they continued to slowly walk forward. ‘You killed my parents.’

‘Maybe,’ the Regent lifted a shoulder noncommittally. ‘But I did not kill your brother, did I? No, that was all you, Laurent.’

‘Don’t you dare use my brother against me,’ Laurent spat, clenching his free hand and lurching forward, but being pulled back by Damen. ‘You would’ve killed him, too.’

‘You know me so well. Speaking of my dear Auguste, where is he? I assume you know he has been taken from the palace.’

‘He’s where he belongs, far away from you.’

‘No matter, we will find him. He was such a pretty decoration, don’t you think?’ he asked, tapping his bearded chin thoughtfully. ‘The gold really brought out the fear in his eyes.’

‘Laurent,’ Damen warned quietly. ‘Don’t rush out of anger.’

‘And who’s this _delightful_ young man? An Akielon? Such an unfortunate alliance. Tell me, has he taken you yet? Who spread – oh, how could I ask such a thing?’ the Regent laughed, standing from the throne and stepping down from the dais. ‘No doubt he would kill you, just like his brother.’

‘If you take another step forward, you’re never going to find out.’

The Regent raised his eyebrows with a startled laugh. ‘You do not scare me, Akielon. I suspect you only made it this far by pure luck.’

‘I’m Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos,’ Damen hissed. ‘I’ve been training to kill men like you my entire life.’

‘Damianos. Does your father know you’re here?’

‘He sends his regards.’

‘Unfortunate that you will not be able to convey mine in return,’ the Regent smiled. ‘Seize them.’

‘You think you and your four guards can take us?’ Laurent asked.

‘No, but these ones can,’ the Regent waved a hand, and parts of the walls cracked and swung open, more soldiers pouring into the room from behind doors built cleverly into the décor and ornamentation.

‘Fuck,’ Damen said, glancing back to where their own group of soldiers were quickly being overwhelmed by the sheer number of Veretians, then back to Jord. ‘Why didn’t –’

‘Those were not there ten years ago,’ Jord muttered. ‘Plan?’

Damen looked around, trying to formulate a plan before his brain was occupied by fighting. Nikandros was gone, at least. That was good. That meant they still had a chance to salvage this thing, but not before – ‘They’re going to take us. I don’t know where, or what they will do with us, but he has another plan. We cannot win this one.’

‘Damen,’ Laurent tried. ‘We have to.’

‘We won’t be able to touch the Regent, and if we get out of here, they’ll move him and we’ll lose him. If we let him take us, then we will be able to keep him here.’

‘We’re not going to fight?’ Lazar asked, already facing towards the crowd of Veretians coming at them.

‘I never said we would make it easy,’ Damen smiled. ‘Laurent, it will be fine. Whatever he has planned, he’ll have it involve both of us.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Laurent said, but that was all he had time for. The Regent’s men had reached them, and if they were going to be taken, they were going to bring down as many enemy soldiers as they could.

***

Laurent didn’t think he’d ever been soaked with quite as much blood as he was currently. He’d never killed a man, but now he could say, many times over, that he had. The red mist and streaks over his armour could attest to it, as could the fact that these gloves and shirt, now a deep crimson, had originally been white.

It had taken longer than the Regent had probably thought it would to get their group under control. Orlant and Lazar were the first to be hauled away, screaming curses and oaths of vengeance. Jord had been taken next, a long cut down his arm dripping blood in his wake.

Laurent and Damen had been together until the end, back to back and striking at the Regent’s guards, fast and deadly as vipers.

Blades were coming back at them, slicing at Laurent’s clothing and shredding the delicate fabric, probably to irreparable lengths. It was pure chance they managed to get hold of him and drag him away – he was distracted by a group of five more soldiers approaching Damen, and by some stroke of luck, one of the men facing Laurent had struck out and sliced Laurent’s leg.

He’d been shocked enough by the burst of pain and trickling warmth that he’d gasped, presenting an opportunity to grab him. As Laurent was removed from the hall, he saw Damen drop his sword and give up completely, watching on after him. Laurent rounded a corner, and that was the last he’d seen of Damen.

Now, he was here in a small, dark, and damp cell in the palace dungeons. They’d stripped him of his armour, and despite everything else that was going on, Laurent desperately wished they wouldn’t dispose of it. He felt bad his first thoughts hadn’t been of his men – of _Damen_ – but he was sure they would understand. That armour allowed him to feel close to Auguste, no matter how short of a time he’d had it.

Laurent couldn’t hear any of the others near him, and he didn’t bother calling out for them. He knew they would’ve likely been separated in the undoubtedly extensive dungeons. He only hoped they weren’t badly hurt or being mistreated.

Then again, it was Laurent’s uncle in control of their comfort.

***

Laurent hadn’t been tired, far too much adrenaline running through his body for him to be able to rest properly, but he’d tried. He figured his uncle would want to make a show of his power as early as he could, so that meant at some point today, he would be removed from his cell and forced to face him again. The thought made him sick and the stone in his stomach weighed heavier than ever.

He hadn’t been fed, hadn’t been given water, or a single ounce of attention. It partly pleased Laurent that he hadn’t needed to deal with gloating soldiers, but he also would not have minded some form of sustenance, though he knew he wouldn’t get it, even if he begged.

He figured the sun had been up for a few hours, almost reaching its apex in the sky when they came for him. Laurent might’ve been a prince – and a prince of Vere, at that – but his uncle’s guards were making no exceptions for him, shackling his wrists and pulling him roughly from the cell without a word, careful not to touch any skin that was peeking through the ripped layers of his clothing. Apparently, they’d been warned about that.

The palace seemed empty as he was led through it, a guard holding either of his arms, but there was the hum of humanity in the air, the inevitable buzz that came from having people gathered together. Sure enough, when the doors to the throne room were opened for him, the long space was filled with Veretian courtiers and their pets.

They stared at him as he was paraded up the middle of the room, some watching him with their mouths dropped open in shock, some pets clinging to their masters in fear. They were all decked out in ostentatious Veretian style, or in the case of the pets, sparkling with jewels and paints and draped in gauzy materials that hid very little.

It seemed like the Regent had been making a speech, with Laurent’s entrance probably timed perfectly to illustrate a point. Maybe about how strong he was, what a good leader and king he was to fight off his usurper nephew and the barbarian Akielons he was whoring himself out to – but his uncle had finished his speech now, the gleeful reminiscing about how Laurent had unwittingly paved his way to the throne with golden tiles.

But Laurent refused to be broken by him. He’d had ten years to get used to the idea, even if mere weeks ago he’d been crying a veritable ocean into the stone floor of Acquitart’s royal reception room.

As Laurent reached the front of the room, the Regent cocked his head and smiled. ‘Welcome, nephew.’

Laurent set his jaw and tried to relax his shoulders, not wanting to play into his uncle’s game and look uncomfortable. ‘What have you done with my guards?’

‘Your merry band of traitors? They –’

‘ _Traitors?_ ’ Laurent repeated. ‘That’s interesting, isn’t it? What really makes a traitor, do you think? Protecting the heir to the throne… maybe slitting the throats of a few family members? Shall we put it to a vote for your court?’

‘They will be put to death,’ the Regent finished, as if Laurent hadn’t even spoken. ‘They will be executed, but not before you, and not before your pet barbarian.’

The eyes of the court were all on him as his uncle waved a hand, eyes glittering cruelly, and the room gasped in surprise. Laurent didn’t give his uncle the satisfaction of turning around to see what had their attention. The jingling of chains gave him an idea of what they were looking at, one confirmed by the four guards that ended up next to him, yanking someone else into place beside him.

‘Laurent,’ Damen gave a sigh of relief. ‘Are you okay?’

‘For now,’ Laurent replied lowly and in Akielon.

‘The others?’ Damen asked in the same.

‘Alive.’

‘Not going to greet him properly?’ the Regent said loudly. ‘No kiss between you?’

‘What do you want from us?’ Damen asked. ‘Are you going to kill us?’

‘As I’ve just told my dear, darling nephew here, we’re going to have some fun first.’

‘Sounds good to me. When can I expect to see my father? I think he may send a few thousand men to find me if it goes on too long.’

‘Not for a few weeks, maybe even months,’ the Regent replied genially, gesturing a hand to the guards. ‘Depends how long it takes for Akielos to fall.’

Laurent’s hands were unshackled, and he rubbed his wrists, turning from the soldier in front of him to his uncle. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

There was a moment where Laurent could see exactly where this was going to go, as his uncle’s entire stance shifted. He was about to have the entire hall turned against him, any and all sympathisers made to disagree with their own thoughts with what would be said.

‘You killed the Crown Prince, Auguste!’ the Regent boomed, pointing accusingly at him. ‘My most _beloved_ nephew, you turned to gold!’

‘Do you have any proof?’ Laurent asked. He knew the court had never seen his… _talents_ , even if they had heard rumours about it. ‘Where is this supposed statue, then? Present your case.’

‘I am,’ the Regent replied, a predatory smile stretching his face.

Laurent fought back the confusion from his face as his uncle leaned forward in his seat, watching him and Damen interestedly. It hit him what he was expected to do at the same time as it did Damen. ‘No,’ Laurent breathed.

Damen was laughing beside him. ‘Of course,’ he said, shaking his head, curls swaying with the movement. ‘Of course, this is where we end up.’

‘In your own time,’ the Regent said loudly. ‘Please.’

Laurent turned to Damen, who was now getting his own shackles removed by a pair of wary looking guards. ‘I cannot do this to you,’ Laurent said, returning to Akielon and eyeing up the courtiers behind him. ‘We can fight our way out.’

‘We can’t,’ Damen replied in the same. ‘You know it as well as I do.’

‘I would rather die than –’

‘Than what?’ Damen interrupted, walking towards him and resting his hands on Laurent’s shoulders. It was a comforting weight, one that the room at large seemed surprised by. ‘Curses can be reversed, Laurent, you said so yourself.’

‘You can’t just give up,’ Laurent said desperately, looking for someone, anyone – _anything_ – to help them. ‘There has to be another way.’

‘There’s not,’ Damen shook his head. ‘Find Nikandros. He will do everything he can to help you.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he knows I love you,’ Damen said, so soft and easy, his hands dropping to Laurent’s gloved ones, ‘and I trust him to look out for you if I cannot.’

‘Damen, I can’t hurt you,’ Laurent whispered, switching back to his native Veretian as his stomach rolled in on itself. This was what it had been building up to. ‘I can’t do it again to someone else I… Someone else I love.’

‘You have to,’ Damen smiled a little, gently taking one of Laurent’s hands. ‘I once said I would give anything to touch you, and it seems that includes my life.’

‘No –’

‘We’re _waiting_!’ the Regent said loudly, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair.

‘You can break the curse,’ Damen said quietly, tugging on the tips of each finger of the glove. ‘I believe in you.’

‘What if I can’t?’

‘Then I will be waiting for you in the afterlife.’ He said it simply, like that was all there was to it. Maybe he was right. ‘I promise I won’t hold it against you. I never could.’

‘Damen…’ Laurent trailed off as his glove slipped from his hand. It seemed strange now, to see his own flesh. ‘I love you.’

‘I know,’ Damen looked down to Laurent’s naked skin and started moving his fingers slowly from the fabric over his wrist, down towards his –

‘No!’ Laurent snatched his hand away from Damen’s reach, cradling it to his chest. ‘I can’t – I’m not – not yet.’

‘You have to be,’ Damen murmured. ‘Remember I love you and I trust you. There will be a way.’

Laurent closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘If I have to do this, I want to do it on my terms.’

‘That’s… It won’t – won’t _hurt_ , will it?’ Damen asked, his voice low and maybe a little more scared than either of them were willing to admit.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Okay,’ Damen nodded and rolled his shoulders, if the sound of shifting fabric was anything to go by. ‘Do it.’

Laurent opened his eyes and stepped closer to Damen. If he couldn’t find those wise men in the mountains, if he couldn’t _fix_ Damen and he was going to be stuck in gold for the rest of eternity, if this was going to be his _one chance_ to touch him, then Laurent was going to make it count.

He started slowly, taking his naked hand and pushing it through Damen’s hair, marvelling at the texture between his fingers. He smiled at how soft it was, thankful that it didn’t immediately begin turning into gold. Hair, he had heard, was only alive at the root, right next to the skin. This seemed to prove it, because Damen’s hair stayed as beautiful and dark as it had been to begin with.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked softly, still watching Damen’s hair run through his fingertips.

‘I’m ready,’ Damen said, nodding jerkily when Laurent removed his hand.

Laurent ran his hand down the hardened leather of Damen’s armour, splattered with the dried blood of too many men to count. He’d said it a few times now, and he thought he would’ve been more nervous, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. ‘I love you, Damianos. I’ll find a way.’

‘I know you will.’

Laurent pursed his lips, wishing he could stay in this moment as he looked up into Damen’s eyes, so warm and full of trust, belief that Laurent would undo what he was being forced to. ‘I love you,’ he murmured again, just to feel the words pass his lips.

‘I love you, Laurent,’ Damen whispered, eyes scanning and memorising Laurent’s face. ‘I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.’

Laurent felt the tears beginning to well up, as he stretched onto the tips of his toes knowing he’d only have a moment. As Laurent placed his hand against the warm, soft skin of Damen’s cheek, he kissed him, trying to put all his feelings and promises into the one gentle touch of lips. He pulled back quickly, only just catching the smile that formed on Damen’s mouth before the gold of Laurent’s touch inched across his lips, joining the threads webbing out from the point on his cheek.

As the gold gained ground across Damen’s skin, it spread faster, freezing him in place. His eyes were sad, his mouth full and gentle, and the last thing Laurent could remember thinking before the room dissolved into horrified screams, was that at least Damen hadn’t been scared like Auguste.

***

Laurent was empty.

He’d been thrown back into his cell after the throne room had dissolved into chaos, left with nothing but his thoughts, his guilt. He couldn’t find it in himself to see any semblance of positivity in what had happened, couldn’t forgive himself for it, even though Damen already had. All he could think of, as stupid as it was, was a single conversation they’d had partway into their journey north from Marlas.

They had been in Ladehors, in the north and bordering on Barbin. They’d set up camp for the night, Nikandros and Jord having just left the front of the tent Laurent and Damen shared, as they used it for their war councils.

Pallas and Lazar, now apparently joined at the hip, had stopped by with some food from further out the camp – simple bread and meats they devoured quickly, before taking off their heavier outer layers.

They’d started putting their beds closer to each other, almost so they made one to share. It made it easier to have whispered conversations, to voice their fears for the future without eavesdroppers. The sense of safety created by lying near each other was just a bonus.

‘What do you think we will do when this is over?’ Laurent had asked quietly. The air wasn’t quite still, with the sounds of soldiers laughing and talking in the distance, but it was as close to silence that they’d get for a while yet.

‘I want to take you to Ios,’ Damen said after a moment. ‘I want to take you swimming in the ocean and smell the salt in your hair, feel the sun’s warmth on your skin. Or, if you prefer, I could take you to the summer palace, just the two of us. My mother designed the gardens, and I would take you through them and pick flowers for you.’

‘That sounds nice, just the two of us. We’ve never been entirely alone, have we? Not for long.’

‘No, but I don’t mind if it means I’m still with you.’

Laurent didn’t speak for a few moments. He hadn’t been able to help but imagine what people would usually do alone in tents like this, instead of lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. ‘If I wasn’t…’ he paused, frowning at his own choice of words, before he continued in a whisper. ‘If I could touch you, what do you think we would be doing right now? This?’

‘Maybe,’ Damen replied. ‘Maybe not. I might be holding you, I might be… doing something else.’

‘Something else? Like what?’

‘Something less innocent than just holding you.’ Laurent could hear a smile in his voice. ‘What would you like me to be doing?’

‘I just – I just want to _touch_ you.’ Laurent almost sobbed as he said it. These veiled touches were not enough, would never be enough. He hadn’t touched another person in ten years, and couldn’t see how that would change any time in the near future. ‘I just want to feel your skin, your smile under my fingers.’

‘One day,’ Damen had murmured.

And now, sitting curled in on himself, Laurent let the sob out. He’d touched Damen, and what had he got in return? Exactly what he’d expected. Exactly what he’d stayed so long in Acquitart to avoid. He didn’t know how long he cried for, only that he did it silently and until his eyes ran dry and the hollowness of his body had consumed him completely.

Laurent didn’t care anymore. He knew Damen would want him to keep fighting, to find a way to get out of this. He’d see himself as a worthy sacrifice if it could get Laurent on the throne, and it pricked at the pieces of Laurent that were still, barely, feeling. He would fix this. If not for himself, then for Damen. If it was the last thing he did, he would end this.

He would do anything he needed to take down the Regent, even if it meant his own death.


	13. Aristeia

Laurent passed quickly from his overwhelming sadness at Damen’s death into pure, unadulterated rage. When his parents had died, he’d been young, afraid, and when Auguste had, too, that fear had strengthened into fear of himself. He hadn’t let himself properly grieve for his brother until he’d been forced to face the reality he’d created when Damen returned with him from Arles. Even that, the hours of tears he’d poured into the hard floors of Acquitart, didn’t feel comparable to what he felt now.

Laurent knew, without a shadow of doubt, that this would be what would motivate him most in killing his uncle – and he would. Love was a vicious motivator, and Laurent would destroy himself to avenge Damen. He just needed to get out of this cell to do it.

But to get out, he’d need a clear head. Right now, his brain was clouded by emotion, and he couldn’t let that get in the way of his escape. It hurt him to do so, but he tamped down his thoughts of Damen, his memory of the gold taking hold of him, and breathed out.

He got off the floor and inspected the door to his holdings – solid lock and thick bars. The only way he’d get out of here was either dead or by the keys of a guard. One of those was not going to happen, and the other – well. Surely, they wouldn’t leave Laurent without guards.

In theory, if there was a guard here, Laurent would need something to overpower them or at least to threaten them with. He had nothing except his own skin, but he didn’t want to weaponise his touch like that ever again; even against someone holding him captive. It seemed he might not have any other options, because his cell was empty.

Since leaving Marlas, however, Laurent had taken to carrying a small hidden dagger. It had been in his boot, tucked in tightly next to his calf, but as he patted himself down, he found nothing except the empty sheath. Useless. He was truly unarmed, so his only hope was for a guard easily downed.

The sky outside was dark now, which meant the night shift of guards would likely be on. Likely, also, that they would be new guards undergoing the worst shift as an initiation.

Laurent didn’t want to immediately seem like he’d planned something, but even with the meagre plan he had – knock out the guard and grab the keys and perhaps a weapon – now would be the best time to put it into action.

Without seeming like he was faking it by starting out too strong, or being unrealistically loud, he started coughing. It seemed to work, probably because Laurent’s fake cough had quickly turned into frenzied real coughing.

The guard that responded was suspicious, as Laurent had thought he would be, and approached warily, like he wasn’t totally sure what to do. A new guard, then. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No!’ Laurent managed, gasping for air before another round of coughs. ‘Water!’

The guard raised an eyebrow, but left and returned quickly with – oh, a _ceramic_ jug and cup. How perfect. He poured some water for Laurent and handed the cup through.

Laurent drank it greedily, holding out the cup for more, as the liquid ran down his throat and dampened the coughs. He downed the second cup, too, and leaned heavily against the bars. ‘Come here,’ he rasped.

‘What is it?’ the guard asked. He was young, plain brown hair, but an objectively pretty face.

‘What have they done with the others? My guards?’

‘They’re being held just –’ the guard stopped and narrowed his eyes. ‘They’re alive, if that’s what you want to know.’

Laurent nodded, looking down and subtly scanning the guard for keys. There – a ring hanging off his belt. This was too easy. Laurent cleared his throat and beckoned the guard to come closer, closer, until he was standing less than an arm’s length from the bars. ‘What,’ he asked quietly, ‘is the likelihood you’ll let me out of here?’

‘I – what?’

Laurent didn’t give him time to consider an answer, smashing the cup into the guard’s temple as hard as he could and grabbing the ring of keys before he stumbled backwards in a daze and fell over a bench, going down hard to the floor. ‘Didn’t expect that to work,’ Laurent muttered, starting to put keys in the lock of his cell, and opening it on merely the fourth try.

He walked across to the guard, taking his knife and tucking it into his boot, and removing his sword as well. As Laurent was knelt beside him, checking him over for anything else of use, the guard began to stir. He clamped a hand over his mouth and put a knee on his chest to keep him down. ‘Scream and I’ll slit your throat,’ Laurent hissed. ‘Where are my guards being held? Are you going to scream?’

The guard’s eyes grew wide and he furiously shook his head as Laurent withdrew the knife from his boot and pressed it to his neck for good measure. ‘They’re in the cells down the other hall,’ the guard said quickly. ‘Out here and to the left. But it’s heavily guarded. You’re the only one down here.’

‘Yes, I gathered that,’ Laurent said drily. ‘How many guards?’

‘Too many for you to take by yourself.’

‘How many,’ Laurent repeated, pushing it a little tighter into the skin without breaking it.

‘Six!’ the guard squeaked. ‘Six guards, more inside by the cells.’

‘Fuck,’ Laurent muttered. ‘Are you holding any Akielons?’

‘Akielons?’ the guard asked in confusion. ‘No, only your Veretians. All the Akielons were either killed or released in good faith.’

‘No Akielons,’ Laurent nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘Sure!’ the guard said, his eyes flicking down to the knife. ‘Can you move that?’

‘No.’

‘I’m not going to scream,’ he said. ‘I’m on your side.’

Laurent hummed. ‘Even so, you know I cannot trust you.’

‘You can –’

Laurent didn’t give him a chance to finish that sentence, hitting him again in the temple with the pommel of the knife. ‘Sorry. No hard feelings,’ he murmured, tucking it back into his boot and dragging the guard into his vacated cell. He shut the door as quietly as he could, tucking the keys into the waist of his pants, just in case.

There were no torches down the short corridor, but the end of it was well lit, and Laurent couldn’t see or hear anyone down there. He crept cautiously towards the light, keeping his back against the darker wall, and his stolen sword clenched in his hand. As he reached the corner, he paused and tried to force his range of hearing, searching for any small noises that came from life nearby. Again, nothing.

Maybe the guard Laurent had just knocked out had been lying about their numbers? He knew that upon his and… _their_ arrival at the palace, a fair number of Arles’ soldiers had been taken out. It was possible that they hadn’t had the chance to fully replenish their forces yet, and that guard was merely trying to scare him out of rescuing his own men.

That wasn’t going to happen.

He entered the larger common space and went down the other corridor where the guard said Laurent’s men were, still hearing no signs of life. He was close to giving up and returning to find his way out, when he heard it. Quiet, tired, but unmistakeable as Lazar’s singing.

Laurent reached the end of the wall he was creeping down, and peeked his head around. No guards. Nevertheless, he spun into the corridor with his sword drawn, just in case.

‘Laurent?’ Lazar asked, his voice unsure.

‘Lazar,’ Laurent breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘How many guards are here?’

‘None, just one. Young, brown hair. Kind of cute.’

‘He’s in my cell,’ Laurent said, leaning the sword against the wall and pulling the keys from his pants. ‘Are you sure there are no others?’

‘No others.’

‘Are you alone down here?’ Laurent asked, trying keys, and opening Lazar’s cell on the second try – which, really, it wasn’t like things were going badly at this point.

‘Jord is being held in the infirmary, we think. The cut on his arm was deeper than it looked. Orlant is down the end.’

Laurent nodded and went down to free Orlant, who looked surprised to see him there. They joined Lazar by where Laurent had come in, and made their way out.

In the better light, Laurent could see they both looked… not great. They had splatters of dried blood on their clothes and skin, and although they were mostly fine, if Laurent hadn’t received food or water, then it was likely they would also have been ignored.

‘We need to be fast,’ Laurent said, as they headed back to the main guard post at the entrance to both corridors. ‘There might be some food around here you can have.’

‘Are you not hungry?’ Lazar asked, as he and Orlant started searching the small room.

‘Not for food,’ Laurent muttered, opening and closing the chests and cupboards built into the walls. Surely, they would have his armour somewhere around here. He didn’t _need_ it, but he would prefer to have it when he ended up facing the Regent and his soldiers again.

It was nowhere to be found here, which stung Laurent a little. He could only hope they hadn’t destroyed it somehow.

‘What of our next move?’ Orlant asked, his voice muffled by a mouth full of bread. ‘Find Jord? Find Damen?’

‘You –’ Laurent cut himself off as he turned back to the pair of them, watching him innocently. He realised they hadn’t been in the room when… ‘Was Damen being kept with you?’

‘No,’ Lazar said slowly. ‘We assumed he was with you.’

‘He wasn’t…’ Laurent rubbed his eyes, trying to make it come off as tiredness instead of forcing away the budding tears. ‘Damen’s – he’s…’

‘What is it?’

‘I had no choice. Damen said it was okay.’

‘You –’

‘On a more positive note, we finally kissed,’ Laurent said hollowly, looking down to his hands. One of these had taken everything away. ‘He told me to find Nikandros, so that is exactly what we’re going to do.’

‘What about Jord?’

‘He will understand.’ Laurent didn’t want to abandon someone else who’d been so dear to him, but he wasn’t in these cells, and Laurent had no idea where he would be held. They wouldn’t execute him quietly, so as long as Laurent found Nikandros soon, and they could then find _Jord_ , then he’d be fine. He’d understand Laurent’s decision, even if he wouldn’t be entirely happy about it.

Lazar and Orlant nodded grimly. ‘We need to get out of the palace,’ Lazar said, surveying the room for any makeshift weapons and coming up blank. ‘Somehow.’

‘We will not have long. We need to go now, before another guard turns up,’ Laurent said.

‘Agreed. Do you want one of us to go first?’

‘I –’ _Damen would take the lead._ ‘No. I’ll go.’

‘After you,’ Lazar said, bowing a little and gesturing to the door of the guard’s room. ‘You know how to get out?’

‘Yes.’ Laurent took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

***

The palace was deserted. Laurent didn’t know if that was from a stroke of luck, or that there was a curfew, or just that all the guards were either injured or dead, but no matter the cause – Laurent, Lazar, and Orlant were able to easily make their way out. The cover of darkness certainly helped, as they found servant access and used it to sprint through hidden corridors and outside.

They had ended up out the back of the kitchens, where apparently, Damen had smuggled Auguste out of. There were guards here, but easily taken care of by Laurent and his knife.

Lazar and Orlant watched him, maybe a little frozen in shock, as he slipped behind each of the guards and knocked them hard in the temple with the butt of the handle. They blinked and moved to action, disarming them and dragging them into a dark corner to be tied together with a length of rope Orlant found in the back of a cart around the side of the gate.

With weapons acquired and guards taken care of, the three of them slipped from the palace grounds and into the surrounding town, making their way through dark alleys and over rooftops, out to the outskirts and the majority of the Akielon forces.

The guards around the Akielon camp were much better prepared, approaching and surrounding them as soon as they were within their range of view. ‘Stop!’ one of them called in Akielon, drawing his own sword at the sight of Laurent’s. ‘State your name and business.’

‘I’m Prince Laurent. I need to speak with Nikandros, Kyros of Delpha,’ Laurent said, also in Akielon, and holding his arms up to show he meant no harm, ‘immediately.’

‘Laurent,’ the guard repeated, looking him over. ‘Even so, we’ll need to remove your weapons until confirmed by the Kyros.’

‘Directly to the Kyros,’ Laurent nodded for Lazar and Orlant to hand over their weapons with him, though he did leave the knife in his boot.

As they were led by the pair of guards through the camp towards where Nikandros must’ve been at the centre, Lazar muttered, ‘Brave for the two of them to escort three of us. What if we weren’t us?’

‘You saw how Nikandros and… how the pair of them fought together,’ Laurent shrugged. ‘They could easily kill us.’

The guards laughed quietly. ‘Here,’ one of them said in Veretian. ‘The Kyros.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurent said, gesturing for Lazar and Orlant to wait outside, as he slipped in through the folds of the tent’s entrance.

He was unsurprised to see Nikandros still awake, but Nikandros, clearly, was surprised to see him. ‘Laurent,’ he frowned. ‘You’re alive.’

‘You do not sound pleased about that,’ Laurent said, seating himself on a plush couch.

‘You don’t have Damen with you, so no, I would not describe myself as happy,’ Nikandros said, crossing his arms and tilting his head. ‘You look terrible.’

‘Thank you, I have been through a lot since you ran away.’

‘I did not run away. Damen told me to leave if we were in a losing position.’

‘Did you know we were in a losing position?’

‘No king seats himself in a large room with only four guards and looks that pleased about being found, not unless he’s hiding something,’ Nikandros shrugged. ‘Damen is where?’

‘He’s…’ Laurent looked at his hands. ‘Likely decorating my uncle’s bedchambers.’

Nikandros slid his eyes slowly to where Laurent was twisting his hands together. ‘You _killed_ the Crown Prince of Akielos?’

‘I was not presented with another option,’ Laurent hissed, standing and pacing the tent. ‘He told me to do it and to find you. He said you would help me.’

Nikandros let out a deep sigh, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. ‘Fuck.’

‘So?’

‘I gave him my word. I’ll help you, of course, I will.’

Laurent nodded. ‘Where do we go from here?’

‘I think you should eat something and get some sleep. It’s the middle of the night, we cannot be planning a new attack right now.’

‘That is exactly why we _should_ do this right now. I want to finish this, destroy my uncle and everything he holds dear.’

‘No. Bath, food, bed, Laurent. You’ve been in the palace for days. Have they given you anything to eat?’

Laurent deflated a little. ‘No, but I do not care. And you shouldn’t, either. He’s responsible for his death!’

‘Laurent, I know –’

‘I do not think you do!’ Laurent said, stepping close to Nikandros and jabbing him in the chest. ‘I don’t think you know _anything_ about what this feels like!’

‘Oh, you want to play _that_ game, do you?’ Nikandros asked, getting right into Laurent’s space. He was so much like Damen it almost hurt – his height, his body, even – to some extent – his voice. ‘You’ve just turned up and told me you killed my best friend. I’ve known Damen since before we could even talk, and _you_ are the one that took him from me!’

‘I didn’t have a choice! You think I would kill the man I love on a fucking _whim_?’

‘Well, you kind of did!’

‘I would never hurt Damen! My uncle forced my hand, all but literally, and for that I’m going to do whatever I can to take him down, even if it means my own _death_!’ Laurent yelled.

Nikandros balked and took a step back, shaking his head slowly. ‘You’re not going to die. Damen would never forgive me.’

‘Damen’s not here,’ Laurent hissed.

‘You said you might able to reverse what you did,’ Nikandros said lowly. ‘And I’m going to make sure you live long enough to do it. Is that clear?’

‘You can’t control me.’

‘No, but I can take away my army.’

‘You would go back on your word to help me?’

‘No,’ Nikandros sighed, ‘but you’re not helping anyone right now. You’re going to clean that smell off you. You’re going to eat, and you’re going to sleep. We will deal with this in the morning.’

‘But –’ Laurent started.

‘Stop. I will have Lydos escort you to somewhere with a bath, Aktis will take care of whoever I assume came with you.’

‘I am not a child,’ Laurent said, glaring at Nikandros.

‘Then stop _acting_ like one and do what I tell you.’

Laurent set his jaw and looked away. ‘Fine,’ he muttered. ‘I will return as soon as the sun rises.’

‘I would expect nothing less. Lydos, deal with Prince Laurent,’ Nikandros called. ‘Aktis, see the Prince’s men fed and watered.’

‘Kyros,’ they chorused, and there was the sound of several sets of feet leaving the tent’s entrance.

‘Goodnight, Laurent,’ Nikandros said, one eyebrow raised as he watched Laurent slowly leave.

Laurent said nothing, just following the guard, Lydos, to a tent nearby. A bath was already inside, water half-filling the tub, with more being brought in, along with food and water for Laurent as he soaked.

‘Soaps and salts are there,’ Lydos said, pointing to a small table in the corner. ‘I’ll wait for you outside and show you to your tent.’

‘Did Nikandros have one ready for me?’

Lydos shrugged. ‘It was for the Prince, Damianos. If he’s not here, it’s yours.’

Laurent nodded. ‘I will not be long. You might be able to get some sleep tonight.’

‘I appreciate the thought,’ Lydos smiled, ‘but I’m on watch the whole night. The Kyros will likely assign me to your tent.’

‘Oh,’ Laurent said. ‘Sure.’

‘Bath?’

‘Right.’ Laurent huffed and dropped the door of the tent. As much as he hated to admit it, Nikandros was right. He was worked up, and would be no good to anyone right now, least of all himself. Bath, food, bed was probably not a bad plan.

***

‘We think he has called armies from the other lords,’ Nikandros said, pointing out the nearby castles on the map. ‘Forces from Chastillon have been preparing to march and should be here within the next day or so.’

‘Chastillon is a hunting lodge,’ Laurent frowned. ‘There were soldiers there?’

‘We think as an outpost,’ Nikandros nodded. ‘Our spies say there are no more than one thousand men, but with more coming from further away in Vere, we do not know what that number will reach.’

‘We will need to move quickly, before they arrive,’ Laurent muttered. ‘We cannot attack the palace again, it’s a maze and not designed for any form of warfare.’

‘Palaces are never designed with interior battling in mind,’ Makedon, Nikandros’ general, said. ‘Open air, we can easily take their forces.’

‘Would your uncle be on the field for a battle?’ Nikandros asked. ‘Or would he hide in his palace?’

‘He would have to be on the field. He cannot appear weak to his men, or they will not have any faith in the fight, either.’

‘Good. With any luck, you may be able to kill him.’

‘He took Damen from me,’ Laurent said quietly, studying the map. ‘Believe that I intend to.’

‘Believe that we will do what needs to be done to get you there,’ Nikandros said, sitting back in his chair. ‘He took Damen from you, but he took Damianos from us.’

‘He will have the soldiers form ranks as soon as they arrive,’ Makedon said, ignoring the conversation Nikandros and Laurent had been having. ‘He seems like the sort of stupid, impatient man.’

‘He knows he will not be able to beat us. His goal would become the death of Laurent.’

‘Perhaps I’ll be able to walk directly to my uncle across the battlefield,’ Laurent mused. ‘Do you think he would allow that?’

‘One way to find out,’ Nikandros said, eyebrow raised. ‘But again, Damen would never forgive me.’

Laurent hummed and sat back down in his chair. ‘Speaking of battle, I no longer have my armour.’

‘We do not have any Veretian armour in store, here.’

‘I don’t need Veretian armour. Akielon armour has kept Damen safe this long, I am sure it can do the same for me.’

‘Not that you would particularly care if it did not?’

Laurent inclined his head, neither confirming nor denying the statement. ‘Will you have any for me or no?’

‘We will,’ Nikandros said. ‘I am sure we have some that fits you, but even if not, tomorrow we go to war, and you do not exactly have a choice.’

***

There were no mirrors in Laurent’s tent, no way he could see what he looked like, save for downwards with his own two eyes. It was strange to see the hardened Akielon leather covering his chest, instead of Auguste’s golden starburst that he had become so accustomed to. The leather bracers covering his arms he could admire much better, and up close, he noticed they were much more intricate than he initially thought. Or maybe that was just these particular ones. They had small designs darkened into the surface of them, more decorative than most things Laurent had seen of Akielon items thus far.

‘Where did you say this armour came from?’ Laurent asked the next morning, walking into the war tent to see Nikandros and Makedon bent over the map of Arles and the surrounding area.

Nikandros looked up, and for barely a moment, his face softened. ‘I was not sure they would be completed in time. Damen had them made for you.’

Laurent blinked in surprise. ‘He did?’

‘Yes. The edges are to mimic those of your own,’ Nikandros said, nodding towards the map. ‘We have received word that the Regent’s forces from Chastillon arrived and have been met by the remainder from Arles, as expected.’

‘Formations?’

‘Set, as are our own.’

‘And no one came to get me earlier?’

‘It is a recent development,’ Nikandros said, leaving the table and taking his sword from where it was resting against a couch.

‘So, we are to go to war?’

‘We are. A horse has been prepared for you.’

‘I have a horse.’

‘Augusta is not a war horse, Laurent. Bucephalus is a war horse.’

‘I’m not –’

‘No, I’m not giving you Damen’s horse,’ Nikandros rolled his eyes. ‘Can you imagine what Damen would say to me if I gave you his horse and you got him killed?’

‘I’m not going to kill the horse,’ Laurent said, following Nikandros and Makedon towards the edge of the camp and their horses.

‘Maybe not, but I am not going to take the risk,’ Nikandros said, nodding towards a sleek, black mare, pawing the ground. ‘Ioke will take care of you.’

‘She’s beautiful,’ Laurent said, smiling as he ran his hand down the length of her neck.

‘She is. Do not get her killed.’

Laurent swung up onto the horse and headed towards the troops without a word. He could see his uncle’s men assembled in the distance, knew they had likely been marching the past few days, and probably hadn’t slept much last night as a result. This would almost be too easy, but Laurent had no doubt his uncle would be in there somewhere, surrounded by the most experienced soldiers he could find.

Maybe it wouldn’t be easy. It would be fun, though. Laurent was itching for it now, he could feel everything that had been taken from him.

His mother and father’s voices were whispering in the wind, asking for revenge on the man with their blood on his hands. Auguste, Laurent could almost feel beside him, astride a horse as he had so often been as they raced across the grass outside Chastillon in the summer.

But Damen – Laurent could feel him in everything. The armour that protected him now, as he had been unable to do for Damen. The very beast between his legs thrummed with the power and readiness of Damen’s own. The ghost of his touch weighed upon Laurent’s skin, and the memory of him lingered on his lips, his fingertips.

Laurent had a man, someone he loved and cared for so deeply, and someone who felt the same way about him. Damen had always said he would have Laurent no matter what way that meant, happy just to _have_ him. There had been no pressure, no expectations, just the love and respect of a good man. And he’d been ripped away.

Laurent’s blood boiled, and his vision narrowed to a thicket in the soldiers across the grass. That was where his uncle would be, he could _sense_ it.

‘Laurent,’ Nikandros said quietly, riding up beside him. ‘Are you ready?’

‘I’m ready,’ Laurent said darkly. ‘Do not get in my way.’

‘Infantry will charge first,’ Makedon said, riding up on Nikandros’ other side. ‘That will give you an opening to go directly to him.’

‘I don’t need an opening.’

‘Let the infantry at least get a head start and break their formations,’ Nikandros said. When Laurent didn’t reply, keeping his eyes straight ahead and focused, Nikandros nodded to Makedon, who gave a signal, and the infantry began moving.

It felt like it took far too long for the Akielon army to reach that of Vere, but the sound of clashing swords and shields, men screaming as they were injured, was unmistakeable as the armies met.

‘Laurent,’ Nikandros said, breaking him from concentration. ‘Try not to die. I would prefer you had enough sense left in you to try and fix Damen.’

‘I don’t care if I do,’ Laurent said, urging his horse, ‘but I never said I intended to die.’

Nikandros might have opened his mouth to say something to that, but Laurent didn’t hear, as he and his horse sped across the distance to the fighting armies.

Laurent drew his sword, the blade flashing as he charged through them. He cut down as many Veretians as he saw, spotting men he recognised – Lazar and Pallas fighting against a group of Veretians, Aktis and his own guard, Lydos, doing the same – and being sure they were capable before he moved on.

He could still see that group of soldiers, closely formed, getting closer with every second. In the middle, a very particular head of hair, and fine armour on the person it belonged to.

Laurent turned his horse on a point and raced towards them, instead. The soldiers were better rested here, and Laurent felt at a disadvantage manoeuvring his horse, so he jumped off her and ran at them on foot.

They came at him in pairs, at first, clearly not prepared for what he would do. Laurent easily rid himself of the first few, and must have made a fearsome picture as he strode across the blood-soaked earth, hair wild, and Akielon armour splattered with red. Seeing their fellow soldiers drop like flies, the remainder, save two, of the Regent’s guard charged him.

Laurent stood his ground, readying himself for some proper combat. Nothing felt like a challenge to him now. He was burning from the inside with a rage unlike anything he’d ever felt, with every emotion overpowering that which came before it.

The soldiers, five of them, were upon him now. They had a good system going, but seemed marginally afraid to injure a Prince of Vere, no matter what the Regent may have said to them. Laurent, however, had no such qualms.

One he cut down with a swing of his blade to the throat. Another engaged him in a bout of sparring, getting in a few hits to his chest armour, before Laurent stabbed him in the side, flicking blood across his fellows as he drew it up and out.

Laurent seemed to lose control of what he was doing, like everything was coming from somewhere other than himself, and he was fighting with the spirit of another man inside him. Maybe he was. He could almost hear Damen’s voice in his ear, directing his arm as he fought the Veretians, as he brought a man down with a swift drag of his leg behind the knee.

When all five of the men were down, and the last two of the Regent’s guard standing away from the battle, Laurent and his uncle were left to face each other.

Laurent’s chest was heaving with exertion, but he felt no fatigue, only a thirst for blood, and it was about to be quenched.

‘Nephew,’ the Regent said smoothly. ‘You’ve made quite a mess.’

‘I’m not yet finished,’ Laurent said, twirling his sword. ‘Your turn.’

The Regent rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest plate. ‘Come now, Laurent. You have made your point, you can stop this ridiculous charade.’

‘Charade? You think this is a game?’

‘You would not kill the last of your kin, your own uncle? You would be alone in this world.’

‘I’ve been alone in this world for ten years! When you die, I will feel no grief, no guilt. You destroyed my family and deserve nothing less in return.’

The Regent shifted his stance, one hand twitching towards his sword like he could tell Laurent wasn’t going to fall into any of his traps. He was taking a moment to rest, to detail how he would dismantle the life his uncle had built, and when he moved, he would do exactly what he said.

Laurent had come screaming across the battlefield with no regard for those beneath the hooves of his horse, cutting down anyone who dared approach in the wrong colours, with barely a scratch on him to show for it. There was blood on his face, his clothing, but none of it was his own. It dripped off his sword and was merely the fuel to the fire burning inside him.

Last he had seen Laurent, he hadn’t even held a candle to his brother’s skill, but clearly that had changed. As he eyed the wicked edge of Laurent’s blade, the Regent asked softly, ‘No mercy for an old man?’

‘You _forced_ me to kill the man I love!’ Laurent roared, eyes flashing as he stepped forward. ‘You don’t get mercy from me!’

‘Let’s not be hasty –’

‘You think this is _hasty?!_ ’

‘You have not considered the implications –’

‘Did _you_ consider the implications of forcing my hand upon Damen? You want mercy from me?’ Laurent was within fighting distance now, and lifted his blade. ‘I’ll show you fucking _mercy_.’

The Regent reached for his sword, barely unsheathing it in time to block Laurent’s attack. As he did, the two soldiers left of his guard approached and began to join the fight. The Akielon armour was better than they seemed to think it was, and their blades appeared to just bounce off it.

Almost in a blur, Laurent spun from his uncle to round on them instead, parrying and slicing at their unarmoured limbs. One waited a second too long to move his outstretched arm, and as reward, the tendons of his wrist were severed by Laurent, who picked up his fallen sword and pointed one each at his uncle and the other guard.

‘That is not mercy,’ the Regent said drily.

Laurent narrowed his eyes and turned to the other soldier, quick as lightning, slicing across his thighs and kicking him backwards into the dirt. ‘Would you like to surrender, _uncle_?’ he spat.

‘Funny,’ the Regent sneered, ‘I asked your father almost that exact thing before I slit his throat.’

‘I look forward to returning the favour in the immediate future.’

‘I am sure you will try,’ the Regent said, rolling his shoulders and launching into an attack.

For all that he talked, all he implied how skilled he was with a sword, the Regent’s moves were stilted and rough, weak against the barrage of blows Laurent and his two blades were raining down upon him. He didn’t have much of a choice, except to stay on the defence, taking two steps back for every one Laurent took towards him.

‘Your swordcraft has at least improved since last we met,’ the Regent said through gritted teeth.

‘Haven’t had much else to do,’ Laurent grinned.

Somewhere within the next step his uncle took, Laurent missed something. He didn’t know what, but it had him open and the Regent in a favourable position, and next thing Laurent knew, there was a scream of pain, and it was coming from him.

Maybe the Regent wasn’t as old and useless as Laurent had initially thought, but it was still the first blow he’d landed, and he’d immediately drawn blood. It soaked the material of his pants, the stain darkening with each move he made, but he wasn’t going to show weakness. He’d been dreaming of this moment, planning it for far too long to let it go because of a scratch.

From there it felt like Laurent had peaked, given it his all and now he was on the losing side. His uncle got in hit after hit, even if he didn’t actually cut Laurent, his body was getting tender from the punches the Regent had started giving. He was cocky, now, thinking he had Laurent done, and had shoved his sword into the dirt, ready to grab it up again at the slightest chance Laurent was going to swing something.

He’d lost his grip on his own swords, and they’d disappeared into the mud beneath their feet. Laurent was unarmed and bent over, clutching at his ribs, but it did no good to fend off the kick his uncle gifted him in the stomach.

Now, Laurent was curled into his side in the mud, the stew of dirt and blood clinging to him as he groaned and tried to draw in a single, stable breath.

The Regent stood over Laurent, hands on his hips. ‘Little Laurent. Such a pity to ruin that pretty face of yours,’ he sighed, before kicking Laurent again.

Laurent’s head snapped back as the blow connected with his chin, and his vision went white, barely able to feel anything through the overwhelming pain. After a moment of recovery, Laurent turned his head lazily back to face his uncle. ‘You still think you’re going to win,’ he said, laughing darkly as he wiped the spit and blood from his face.

‘Well, I do not think _you_ will, so that must make me the victor.’

‘But you don’t know about the tricks I have up my sleeves,’ Laurent said, reaching into his boot and pulling out the knife there, swinging it at the top of his uncle’s knees and dragging it through the skin and sinew.

The Regent collapsed with a scream as blood poured like a waterfall into the dirt, startled enough to allow Laurent time to push off the ground and grab the sword, placing the edge of the blade at his throat.

Laurent used the sword to angle the Regent’s head up to face him. He spat out a mouthful of blood and took a deep breath. ‘You’ve lost.’

‘Laurent!’ Nikandros’ voice drifted across the battlefield, as the sound of hooves thundered through the mud.

‘Your little Akielon friends have come to stop you,’ the Regent murmured, keeping his eyes locked on Laurent’s. ‘I haven’t lost, not yet.’

‘Laurent,’ Nikandros said again, coming up a few feet from his shoulder. ‘You don’t need to kill him now, you can wait until things are settled.’

‘Are you trying to make me spare his life?’ Laurent asked, lowly. ‘He’s at fault here for Damen’s death.’

‘I know –’

‘Then you’ll have to excuse me.’

Laurent pulled the sword back, and with a final swing, it was over.


	14. Psuche

He was underwater – or at least, that was what he thought.

The water was a shimmering, beautiful gold that made him think the sun was overhead, shining directly on him as he drifted with the current. Strange fish went past, their colours dark and rich, their fins large and ornate, with small, agile nubs at the end that reached out to him as he made his way downstream.

It wasn’t perfectly silent underwater, sounds muffled by the heavy weight of the liquid upon him. He thought he heard his name, but he could never be sure, and so he allowed himself to be pulled away with the water. He didn’t know how long he was under, and though it felt like a very long time, he felt no hunger, no thirst, no pain. He only felt the cold, and wondered when the water would be a little warmer.

That was his only wish, but even then, he did not mind being under. The water was pleasant, and he was happy to float.

***

When he opened his eyes, everything was… clear. Shapes were defined, colours were bright – _too_ bright, and he shut them again. He wanted to be back under the water, where everything was soft and gentle, not this horrible, offensive world.

He heard a soft noise beside him, a breath, and wondered who was here with him. He opened his eyes, finding difficulty in searching out the source of the noise amongst the objects and items here.

He found it eventually, and something stirred in the back of his mind. He recognised this person. The hair stirred something in his gut, even if he couldn’t see the face.

‘Different,’ he croaked, voice stiff from disuse. ‘You look different.’

The man turned to him, surprise on his face. ‘Damen,’ he said quietly, standing from the chair and approaching the bed. ‘You’re awake.’

‘You look different,’ Damen repeated, studying the features and – _no_ , this wasn’t a change in his features, this was an entirely different person. This wasn’t… not _Laurent_.

‘I know, it’s eerie,’ the man said, a small smile on his face. ‘Do you remember my name?’

‘Not Laurent,’ Damen said, trying to push himself up. His limbs felt heavy, like he was moving through quicksand.

‘No, not Laurent,’ he said, helping Damen move into a sitting position.

Damen stared at him, trying to drag the name from somewhere. Laurent’s… brother. That was the word. This was – ‘Auguste.’

Auguste’s smile grew. ‘That’s me. How do you feel?’

‘Weird,’ Damen said squinting at the light coming through the window. His brain was starting to work a bit faster now, and information was coming back to him. The ride from Marlas, the fighting in the palace, his cell, the crowd, the Regent’s cold smile, Laurent’s kiss. ‘How long was I… gold?’

‘A little less than two months,’ Auguste said, turning and getting a cup of water for Damen. ‘How much do you remember? From before?’

‘A lot.’

‘You’re doing better than me,’ Auguste said, helping Damen drink from the cup. The water was cold, so very cold, as it ran down his throat. ‘It took me over three weeks for everything to come back.’

‘Laurent… he…’

‘He tested out whatever reversal he discovered on me first. Said he didn’t want to risk you if anything went wrong, but it’s fine,’ Auguste said, putting the cup back down. ‘I understand his reasons.’

‘I want to see him,’ Damen said, finding the strength in his voice. ‘I need to.’

‘I know. I’ll talk to him, but I don’t know…’

‘Don’t know what?’

‘If he’ll want to see you,’ Auguste’s brow furrowed, and he let out a sigh. ‘He feels so much guilt towards you, I think, like he expects you to hate him.’

‘I told him I could never do such a thing.’

‘Neither could I,’ Auguste stood and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. ‘You should have your strength back soon, if you already have your memories. Your friend is here, I’ll send him in.’

‘Wait,’ Damen said, as Auguste reached the door. ‘Where am I?’

‘Arles. The Regent is dead.’

***

It still flashed behind Laurent’s eyes when he slept, how the gold spread across Damen’s skin, consuming and freezing him in place. The soft and gentle look on his face was burned into his memory, along with the way the court had screamed as it happened. They didn’t understand what it was like to see that when it was someone you cared so deeply for.

They weren’t crying out for Damen, mourning his loss. They were afraid of Laurent, because he was a _monster_. He’d killed someone he loved, and not for the first time, and that was what kept him awake at night. Even after he’d found the wise men in Vask’s mountains, even after he’d fixed his brother and Damen, even after he’d had the curse removed – which he _still_ didn’t understand – and was able to touch people. Laurent could barely face himself in the mirror.

He spent nights wide awake, sitting on the chaise in his chambers, thinking over and over about what he’d done. What he’d fixed.

When he’d first touched Auguste, and from the single fingertip of contact, the gold had begun to flake off to the ground, Laurent had been too shocked to stay and watch it. He had sprinted to the stables, curled himself up in the hay of Aukje’s stall until Jord had come by some hours later and found him.

‘He’s alive,’ Jord had said, sitting heavily in the hay beside Laurent. ‘Paschal is with him in his chambers.’

‘He’s alive,’ Laurent repeated quietly, drawing his knees up to himself and hugging them. ‘Will he be okay?’

‘We don’t know. We assume so, but we cannot know what the years will have done to him.’

Laurent nodded numbly. ‘Just another of my failings if he’s…’

‘Laurent, you cannot pin this on yourself,’ Jord said gently.

‘I’m not talking about Auguste.’

Jord sighed and tilted his head back against the wall of the stables. ‘You picked Auguste first.’

‘If I managed to live this long without him,’ Laurent said, and his voice was barely above a whisper. ‘If it does more harm than good, I do not know if I could do it to Damen. If he’s just going to die, or be in pain, surely it would be better…’

‘You don’t know how it will work. There are no signs Auguste is in pain. He could be completely fine.’

‘Could. He also might not wake up.’

‘You don’t know that, Laurent,’ Jord said again, standing and brushing hay off his pants. ‘Do you intend to stay here?’

‘Yes.’

‘As you wish. Someone will come for you if there is any news.’

Laurent then nodded again and pushed his face into his knees, folding in on himself to be as small as he felt. He hadn’t known if he had saved his brother, or condemned him to something worse, but hours later, when the sun had long since dropped and someone had come in to light the lanterns in the stables, Jord had returned.

‘Laurent,’ Jord had said, his voice so soft Laurent was sure it was bad news. ‘He’s awake.’

Laurent couldn’t say how he got from the stables to his brother’s chambers. All he knew was that one moment he was in the hay with Aukje, and the next, he was in the palace, surrounded by anxious courtiers, who hadn’t really been as loyal to the Regent as anyone had initially thought.

‘Move!’ Jord had yelled. ‘The Prince is coming through!’

Laurent did remember how he had pushed through the doors to Auguste’s chambers, and upon seeing his brother move, blink, smile at him, Laurent had almost lost it completely. Tears ran down his face, and his lip quivered like it used to when he was eight and being told he couldn’t race his pony in the rain.

‘Laurent,’ Auguste rasped, and that had set him off some more.

Paschal had got up, then, and gently steered Laurent to the chair beside Auguste. ‘He’ll be fine, Highness. His memory isn’t quite there, and he can’t exactly move, but we expect to see progress over the coming days.’

Laurent had sat heavily in the chair, pulled it as close to Auguste’s bedside as he could, and held his hand, murmuring apologies between gulping in air and wiping tears from his face. He hadn’t cried like that since Damen had brought Auguste to Acquitart.

Auguste hadn’t responded much, except for saying his name a few more times, and eventually, Laurent had fallen asleep, clasping his brother’s hand and arm as tight as he could, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

He woke up the next day to someone patting his hair gently, and confused as to why someone was touching him, Laurent looked up sharply. His brother’s bright blue eyes were looking right back at him, a smile on his mouth and in his eyes.

‘Hey,’ Auguste said.

And Laurent had started crying again. He probably should’ve been trying to maintain some kind of image here, but Auguste was his big brother, his best friend, and he was awake – Laurent didn’t care at all. ‘I’m sorry,’ he had said between sobs. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I know,’ Auguste said, tilting his face off the sheets. ‘I know, I don’t blame you.’

‘There was nothing I – I never wanted –’

‘I know, it’s okay. Come here,’ Auguste nodded stiffly to the empty bed beside him. ‘I can’t move much, and you need a hug.’

Laurent gave a watery laugh as he kicked his boots off, climbing onto the bed and curling into Auguste like he used to when he was young, and Auguste had read him to sleep. ‘I haven’t had someone hug me since I…’

‘Since me,’ Auguste had filled in. ‘Tell me what I’ve missed.’

Laurent had spent that day, and several of the next, telling Auguste everything – about their parents, Acquitart, and the battle to regain Arles with the help of Damen and Akielos. He spared no detail about Damen, having reached barely a week into his arrival at Acquitart before Auguste interrupted.

‘Damianos,’ he hummed. ‘He was a nice kid.’

‘He was,’ Laurent had agreed. ‘He still is.’

‘You like him, don’t you?’

‘No,’ Laurent had been sitting cross legged beside Auguste on the bed, and he remembered picking at a thread on his pants. ‘I love him.’

‘So? Where is he?’

‘He’s…’ Laurent had picked harder at the thread, pulling at it and creating a new imperfection in the fabric. ‘He’s gold.’

Auguste’s face had softened as he saw the tears well up in Laurent’s eyes again, and he hadn’t pressed the matter right then and there. He allowed Laurent to get to that part of the story in his own time, and when he did, Laurent knew Auguste had understood.

All of this was beside the point that while Laurent had processed his brother’s recovery, he didn’t know if he could face Damen. He didn’t want to see as he was told that Laurent had chosen to fix his brother first, even if it was merely to test the results. He didn’t want to see the resentment in Damen’s eyes, even though they had both known there was no other option. He didn’t want to see the love fade from the eyes of someone he had pinned his future on.

And as much as it hurt him, that was exactly what he told Auguste when he informed him Damen was awake.

***

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Auguste said, slipping back into Damen’s chambers and feeling the eyes of the two Akielons in the room on him. ‘I’ve talked to Laurent,’

‘What did he say?’ Damen asked, studying Auguste’s features and sighing heavily when he found the answer.

‘What is it?’ Nikandros asked, looking between them. ‘Where’s Laurent?’

‘He doesn’t want to see me,’ Damen said, looking to Auguste for confirmation.

‘I told him you don’t hate him,’ Auguste said, opening his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I tried.’

‘I know. It might take him a while, but I’ll be here when he’s ready.’

‘You might not,’ Nikandros said after a moment. ‘Your father wants you to return to Akielos.’

‘Does he know?’

Nikandros pursed his lips and glanced at Auguste. ‘I told him you were injured in battle. He wants you to leave Arles as soon as you are well enough to travel. He expects you to recover with me at Marlas.’

‘I could be ready to leave before a week has passed, and Laurent could take that long. I can’t leave without seeing him.’

‘I can’t go against your father’s wishes,’ Nikandros said. ‘You are my friend, but he is still my king.’

‘What if we delayed?’

‘Your presence here may do more harm than good,’ Auguste said quietly. ‘You know as well as I do that Laurent will shut down under pressure like this. The best thing may be for you to leave him space to breathe.’

‘You want me to go?’ Damen demanded, pushing himself up further. ‘You think I should leave your brother? Abandon him in this time of need?’

‘I did not say that. I think he needs to see you, but I think he also needs to process what has happened, even if you already have. Laurent has a very… analytical mind. Over-analytical, even.’

Damen was quiet. He knew Auguste was right, that Laurent wouldn’t make any rash moves or decisions, and that he wouldn’t speak to Damen – wouldn’t even entertain the idea of it – if he thought Damen hated him for what he’d done. Damen didn’t know if there was a way he could convince him otherwise, except for to give him what he needed.

‘As soon as I am able,’ he said, poking at his legs, only just beginning to regain feeling, ‘we leave for Marlas.’

‘Okay,’ Nikandros nodded. ‘I’ll send a messenger to have rooms prepared.’

‘I will not force Laurent to see me, but I would like to write him a letter, if you would pass it on,’ Damen said to Auguste. ‘Please. I can’t let him think I hate him.’

‘I have told him that.’

‘I know, but hearing it from someone else is not the same as from myself.’

‘That is true,’ Auguste conceded. ‘I will make sure he reads it.’

***

‘He wants to see you,’ Nikandros said by way of greeting. ‘I know he will not force you, but he’s hurting, as I am sure you are.’

Laurent placed his book on the chaise beside him and looked up to Nikandros, face blank. ‘Did he send you?’

‘No. He does not know I’m here.’

‘And why are you? To convince me to see him?’

‘We’re set to leave in two days.’ Nikandros crossed his arms over his chest. ‘You’re running out of time.’

‘So, you’re here to, what, threaten me?’

‘No. Simply to inform you of our plans. To maybe persuade you, but not threaten. You may have taken Damen from me, but you also gave him back, and for that, you have my gratitude.’

‘I don’t need your gratitude, and I don’t want to see him.’

‘Are you afraid of what he might say to you? That he has been lying through us to say he does not hate you?’

‘Maybe what I felt was simply because I was alone,’ Laurent said, picking up his book. ‘Maybe what I said to him was in the heat of passion, being caught up in the first person to show me any attention.’

‘If that is what you feel,’ Nikandros said slowly, ‘then you should also tell him that.’

‘Why? So I can hurt him some more?’

‘No, so he stops wasting his time on a Veretian snake and moves on with his life to find someone who loves him like he deserves.’

Laurent narrowed his eyes. ‘Get out,’ he said, voice low and dangerous. ‘Get out of my sight, do not talk to me again.’

Nikandros smiled and bowed sarcastically, leaving without another word.

***

‘How do your legs feel?’ Paschal asked, standing nearby to observe as Nikandros helped Damen off the bed to stand.

‘Normal. My hips are maybe a little stiff, but nothing I have not experienced before,’ Damen said, taking a few steps forward and turning to repeat it back towards the bed. ‘I feel fine, everything has movement.’

‘Knees?’ Auguste asked from beside Paschal. ‘Hands?’

‘All fine. Just the hips,’ Damen cracked a smile. ‘Like an old man, right, Paschal?’

Paschal arched an eyebrow and turned to Nikandros. ‘You should be on track to leave tomorrow.’

‘Perfect. Thank you,’ Nikandros nudged Damen in the ribs with a grin. ‘Home to Akielos, away from all these Veretians.’

‘And one Veretian in particular,’ Damen sighed, sitting back on the bed and leaning forward, stretching his back. ‘Has he said anything?’

‘No, he –’ Auguste cut himself off, glancing to Nikandros like they knew something Damen didn’t. ‘He wants you to leave.’

‘He wants me to leave?’

‘That is what he said,’ Auguste shrugged. ‘He just needs time, Damen.’

‘He’s had nothing _but_ time,’ Damen muttered, ‘but I won’t make him do anything. Tomorrow we return to Marlas.’

***

Laurent couldn’t sleep. He never seemed to be able to sleep anymore. His brother and Damen haunted his dreams, their blank, golden eyes following his every move as he ran through mazes, clawed at the walls of rooms without doors, or wandered lost through the forests at Acquitart.

If they were not already gold by the time his eyes opened to a dream, then he was back in the throne room with his uncle, surrounded by courtiers and pets, their eyes wide and hands grasping for Damen. He was being forced to touch him, the gloves pulled from his hands, or his clothes stripped completely, until he was naked in a room of strangers, and Damen was pushed into him, his body contorted as he fell and froze.

Unlike when it had happened, in his dreams, the courtiers were not the ones screaming in fear. Damen was being taken over, the agony of the change escaping his lips as it slowly covered him and cut off the noise, until there was nothing but Laurent’s own horrified cries to fill the silence.

The courtiers and their pets watched him, their faces stretching into grotesque smiles as they laughed at his pain, jeering and pointing as guilt filled Laurent’s body. There was never anywhere he could run, because they were moving closer to him, forcing him to cower in the cover of Damen’s cold, metallic body.

His uncle would step off his throne, part the crowds like he was repelling them, and he would try to speak to Laurent, no doubt to taunt him. The words never quite came out, because the blood gurgled from his mouth, bubbling and dripping down his chin, his neck, into the slash of his throat. After failed attempts to speak, but a laugh that echoed wetly through the hall, the Regent’s head would tumble off, rolling to Laurent’s feet, a bloody grin on his face.

Every night it was the same, and every night, Laurent woke up breathing so fast he felt lightheaded and couldn’t speak his own name, let alone call for anyone else. He went through weeks of it, torture designed by his own subconscious, before he gave up on sleep entirely. Sometimes he dozed in his chaise, a book resting against his chest when he woke up, but he never went to his bed. Maybe if he didn’t, then the dreams wouldn’t touch him.

He knew they were just dreams, that none of it could hurt him, except it did. Laurent woke up with a renewed feeling of guilt, and it never left him, overwhelming everything else – including, apparently, his love for Damen.

It was different to what had happened with Auguste, with Laurent being older and understanding the consequences of his actions. He’d touched Damen intentionally, knowing what it would do, and he hadn’t _fought_ it, no matter that they would never have made it from the throne room otherwise. At least this way, they were both still alive.

But it made no difference.

‘They’re preparing to leave,’ Auguste said softly from the doorway. Dawn was just beginning to make her way across the sky, and Laurent had yet to close his eyes for longer than a blink. ‘Do you want to come and see them off?’

‘No,’ Laurent said, turning from his door.

‘They’re heading out the main gate,’ Auguste said regardless. ‘Just in case.’

‘I don’t care,’ Laurent bit out, even though the words stung as he did so.

‘Okay.’ Auguste shut the door as he left, the gentle sound of wood hitting wood feeling like a thunderclap in the dead of the room.

Laurent went back to his book, reading the words on the page, though he didn’t absorb any of it. Nothing was going beyond his eyes, no comprehension of anything except the nagging thought in the back of his head that Damen was leaving and he had, as Nikandros said, run out of time.

But maybe – if he could get there fast enough…

In one swift movement, Laurent dropped his book and stood from his couch, heading towards his door and pulling it open roughly. He could remember the shortcut to the main gate, surely?

Paying no mind to his bare feet and dishevelled appearance, he ran through the palace corridors past servants and pets scurrying from their masters’ chambers. His hair, he knew, was wild, and did nothing to complement the loose shirt and pants he was in.

‘Have they left?’ Laurent asked a pair of Veretian guards, who looked to be coming back from the direction of the main gates. ‘The Akielons – the Prince and his men. Have they left?’

The guards exchanged a look. ‘They’ve just opened the gates, Highness.’

‘Fuck,’ Laurent swore, pushing past them and skidding around a corner to the main entrance of the palace. The gates had closed again, and there was no one with a horse nearby. It would take too long to saddle one, and Laurent could not outrun a horse if he tried, so with no other options, he sprinted across the courtyard in the heavy morning rain, to the stairs for the ramparts and pushed his way past enough soldiers swapping shifts that they moved out of the way for him.

‘Auguste,’ he called, ignoring the rough flagstones beneath his feet and meeting his brother above the top of the gates. ‘Are they –’

Auguste lifted a hand and pointed to the small group of horses that were still within view, far enough ahead that it was indistinguishable who they each were.

‘Damen!’ Laurent yelled, giving no thought to the people who must be sleeping in the buildings nearby. The horses didn’t stop or give any sign they had heard him. ‘Damianos!’

Laurent was exhausted and soaked to the bone by the rain, and all the adrenaline, the fight, drained from him as the Akielon retinue rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Laurent hunched over, grabbing onto the masonry of the rampart barrier like a lifeline, and tried to breathe. He’d been too late. He didn’t get to see Damen, didn’t get to _tell_ him –

A sob made its way through Laurent, and he dug his fingers into the stone, biting into his skin. He wasn’t used to this anymore, being able to feel things.

That thought almost broke Laurent. He could’ve touched Damen now.

‘Laurent?’ Auguste asked. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No,’ Laurent said brokenly. ‘I’m out of time.’


	15. Fatum

‘Damen.’

Nikandros’ voice broke through the cloud of Damen’s mind and shocked him into looking up from the orchard he was sitting in. ‘What?’ Damen asked, blinking the sun spots from his eyes.

‘Are you ever going to move from this tree?’

‘Doubtful.’

Nikandros sighed and sat beside Damen under the tree, branches bare of leaves. ‘You cannot spend your time sitting out here sulking because you haven’t heard from him.’

‘I can, and I will,’ Damen said, pulling his chlamys tighter around his arms. The weather was getting colder now, and he really should not have been sitting outside.

‘You also can’t spend all your time at Marlas. Your father expects you in Ios by the end of winter.’

‘I don’t want to go to Ios.’

‘I don’t _care_ what you want, Damen, this is not good for you. You have put your life on hold to indulge a fantasy. Maybe going home to Ios is what you need.’

‘It’s not, I _know_ what I need –’

‘And it’s not here,’ Nikandros interrupted. ‘It is in Arles, and making no attempt to contact you. Maybe it was just an infatuation, Damen. You were together and saw almost no one but each other, for _months_. You have so much love to give, Damen, don’t you think it’s possible you gave it to the first person you saw who needed it?’

‘No. That’s not what happened, and you know it,’ Damen said, leaning his head against the tree behind him. ‘Not for me.’

‘What about him?’

‘I… I thought it was the same for him, but now I’m beginning to wonder if he didn’t want to see me after everything because there was nothing forcing us together anymore. He had the backing of Akielos, he had his throne, he fixed me… Maybe that was all that there was. Just Acquitart.’

‘Maybe you should ask him,’ Nikandros suggested.

‘I can’t do that,’ Damen said quietly. ‘I will not send him a letter asking if he loves me.’

‘You won’t have to. Before you return to Ios, your father is taking you to Arles for the coronation of Auguste.’

‘He’s taking me to Arles?’

‘We just received the messenger. The coronation is in a month.’

Damen was quiet for a moment and audibly swallowed around the lump that had risen in his throat. ‘Was I invited?’

‘The royal household of Akielos was. You are the Crown Prince, and therefore, invited.’

‘Does… does _he_ know?’

‘I cannot answer that,’ Nikandros murmured, watching Damen from the corner of his eye. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘Are you allowed?’

‘I assume there would be no problem with it.’

‘Then yes,’ Damen sighed. ‘Please come with me, if you can.’

‘Always for you, Damen,’ Nikandros said, slapping him on the knee and getting off the ground. ‘Come inside before it starts raining.’

‘The rain is like –’

‘If you finish that sentence with anything relating to “your tears” I’m going to personally kill you.’

Damen shut his mouth and stood, trying to play off the smile that had appeared on his lips. ‘Inside.’

‘Inside.’

***

As soon as word that the Akielon royal family would be attending Auguste’s coronation had reached him, Laurent had shut down. He missed Damen like nothing else, and he wanted nothing more than to apologise to him for everything and pick up where they had left off, but he didn’t know if Damen would still want that, not after the way he’d left things.

He didn’t even know if Damen was coming with King Theomedes, and he didn’t know if he wanted him to, despite everything. If he would –

‘You’re spiralling,’ Auguste said, coming up behind Laurent’s shoulder and peering into his book. ‘What is this?’

Laurent flipped the cover over and frowned. ‘A detailed discussion of flora and fauna, it seems.’

‘Fascinating,’ Auguste sat in the chair beside his brother and watched him. ‘So?’

‘So, what?’

‘Akielos.’

Laurent stared at him. He was still getting used to Auguste being alive again, and the easy way with which he talked. He still looked the same, hair long and escaping where he had it pulled back, his jaw sharp and angular, not a wrinkle upon his skin. He didn’t seem to have aged at all since he had become the statue, so they were much closer in age, now, even if they both denied it. Auguste was still older and marginally wiser, and that was the way it would stay.

‘What about Akielos?’ Laurent asked, turning back to his book, pretending to read like he had been before.

‘Damen.’

‘Yes.’

‘If he’s coming –’

‘Were you trying to stop me from spiralling, or did you want to start it anew?’

Auguste shrugged, relaxing into his chair with one leg over the arm. ‘I just don’t want you to live with regrets.’

Laurent shut his book sharply and stood from his chair. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’

‘No, Laurent, wait,’ Auguste said, craning his head over the back of the chair. ‘Look, Damen very clearly wants to talk with you.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Did you read that letter I gave you from him? I saw you open it, Laurent.’

‘Did _you_ read it?’

‘Yes,’ Auguste said, without a trace of shame. ‘Of course, I did. He’s the man that loves you and I’m your big brother. I’m not letting that pass me by.’

‘You read a very personal letter written to me by Damen?’ Laurent said incredulously.

‘Someone had to, and it wasn’t going to be you. At least I gave you the opportunity to read it first.’

Laurent watched him curiously. ‘What did he say?’

‘It’s been months,’ Auguste turned away from Laurent to hide his smile. ‘Maybe you should read the letter.’

Laurent hummed, placing his book on his vacated chair without a word as he headed upstairs to his chambers. He thought he had hidden that letter safely, but then again, Auguste would probably be able to point it out within seconds, still remembering how Laurent liked to hide things and where, even though it had been ten years. Apparently, Laurent hadn’t changed _that_ much.

The letter, written by Damen, had been passed on by Auguste after he and his men had left Arles –once Laurent was dry and had mostly cried himself out. He hadn’t wanted to read it right then and there, not with Auguste standing watch, so he’d opened the letter and stared blankly at it, unfocused on the words and their meaning, until he’d gone away.

It seemed that once Laurent had carefully folded it and hidden it inside one of his books, Auguste had come into his room and sought it out. It was rude maybe, but he wasn’t surprised, nor did he blame Auguste for his curiosity. He thought his brother could at least have had a little more tact than admitting it outright.

As he reached his chambers and searched along the shelf for the right book, Laurent found his hands shaking a little in anticipation. Maybe he should’ve read it earlier, maybe it would’ve explained more, and maybe Laurent wouldn’t have spent the time since he’d last seen Damen so angry about the way things had ended, but this was just the way things had played out.

He picked the book off the shelf and turned it open to the letter wedged between the pages. He pulled it out gently and went across to his chaise under the window.

Laurent stared at his name on the front of the letter, recognising Damen’s uncharacteristically graceful script, and feeling a twinge of pain in his heart. If he was feeling like this from just his name, he wasn’t sure he could handle the letter’s contents. He took a deep breath as he turned it over to Damen’s seal, already broken, and unfolded the letter to read.

 

_Laurent,_

_I don’t want you to think any of this is your fault. I knew what I was getting into, I knew the risks, and none of it ever mattered to me, so please do not blame yourself for what happened. I would have been happy to sacrifice myself for you, because that is what I was raised believing it is what you do for those you love._

_Nikandros thinks I fall in love easily, and maybe I do, but I will never apologise for it._

_I love you beyond measure. Further than the horizons stretch, higher than the crests of clouds in the skies, and deeper than the oceans._

_They tell me you are no longer cursed, that your touch is soft and gentle, and I wish I was able to feel it, just one more time, even if it would be my last._

_I know you need time, I know you feel guilt, but I will be here when you decide you are ready, and even if you are never ready, you will always have my heart. I only ask you treat it tenderly._

_I love you._

_D._

Laurent folded the letter and placed it on the table beside him, so it wouldn’t get crumpled as he sank into the couch and curled up on his side. If he’d read that when Auguste had given it to him, he might have been so much worse.

He had undoubtedly left it too long to send Damen a letter and explain things, but if Damen meant it when he said he would wait, then maybe all hope was not lost. There would be a chance they could fix things when he came to Arles – _if_ he came to Arles – but Laurent could not pin all his dreams on that thought. He would have to prepare himself for the possibility that Damen could have changed his mind, and all his chances had been wasted.

Nothing had changed, but at the same time, Laurent’s world had turned on its head.

***

‘Do you know if Damen will be with them?’ Laurent asked, for what felt like the hundredth time. The coronation was in just under a week, and scouts had arrived yesterday to say the Akielon retinue would be arriving today. Laurent hadn’t slept last night, and he was sure Auguste could tell.

He’d been instructed to wear fine clothes today, as well as his circlet, to mark his status as royalty. He and Auguste, along with household guard and councillors, both Veretian and the promised Akielon advisors, were standing on the steps to the palace entrance, waiting for King Theomedes and his entourage to make their way through Arles and into the courtyard.

This was a formal affair, the greeting of a royal family to another’s palace, and Laurent was doing his best not to fidget. It was evidently not going well, as Auguste shot him meaningful looks the closer the cheering came to the palace gates.

‘Stop that,’ Auguste hissed, slapping his brother’s hand away from the edge of his jacket. ‘You’ll fray the threads, Laurent.’

‘Make me,’ Laurent muttered, kicking his foot out and getting Auguste in the ankle.

‘You cannot _kick_ me, I’m the King.’

‘Not yet, you aren’t.’

‘Watch your tone, or I’ll –’ Auguste was interrupted by the sounding of trumpets announcing the arrival of Theomedes. He glanced to Laurent and bumped him softly with his shoulder. ‘Breathe, brother.’

The Akielon horses walked neatly through the gates, pristine in their form and presentation, a light sheen of sweat over their coats visible under the dull, early winter sun. Their riders were wrapped in cloaks befitting of the cold, though as the front two turned to speak to their fellow Akielons, there were flashes of gold amidst their dark hair. Laurel crowns.

Laurent tried to hide his frown, because he did not recognise that particular crowned Akielon, but he figured by the age around his eyes, he must be Damen’s older half-brother, and the king’s bastard, Kastor. He was laughing as he swung off his horse and – _there_ , behind him.

Damen.

His face was bright and happy as he shared in on Kastor’s laughter, Nikandros beside him looking tired, probably with the joke being at his expense. He looked even more magnificent than Laurent remembered, even with his face burned into his memory as it was.

Laurent felt his breath catch in his throat and his hands clenched at his sides, desperately wishing he could be anywhere other than here, as he watched the Akielons fall into rank, Damen beside his father, and approach the palace.

‘Laurent, we are to meet them at the base of the steps,’ Auguste said, tilting his head just slightly to urge Laurent on.

‘Yes, of course,’ Laurent mumbled, following Auguste down the steps towards Theomedes and… Damen.

‘King Theomedes,’ Auguste greeted in perfect Akielon, the barest trace of his accent colouring his words as he bowed. ‘You are most welcome in Arles.’

‘Crown Prince Auguste,’ Theomedes replied, giving a small bow in return. ‘We are delighted to be witness for your coronation, and thank you for your hospitality in the coming time.’

‘Of course, Exalted. May I present my brother, the Prince Laurent of Vere,’ Auguste said, waving an arm as Laurent stepped forward to bow, as was custom.

‘Prince Laurent, you look well since last we met,’ Theomedes said.

‘Thank you, Exalted. I have been… well.’

Theomedes nodded, as if this satisfied a question he hadn’t asked. ‘May I present my son, Kastor, and my heir, the Crown Prince, Damianos.’

Kastor and Damen stepped forward, giving bows of their own as their names were said. Kastor eyed his brother as Damen straightened, decidedly not looking anywhere, except Auguste.

‘Damianos,’ Auguste smiled. ‘Welcome back.’

‘Thank you, Highness,’ Damen said, his voice formal, stiff. ‘I am honoured to be here.’

‘Have you been well?’

Damen set his jaw, smiling, though it did not reach his eyes. ‘I cannot lie and say I have.’

‘I am sorry to hear that.’

‘So am I.’

Auguste cleared his throat, decidedly not looking towards his brother. ‘If you would come inside, I will have someone show you to your chambers,’ Auguste said, turning Laurent and steering him inside, the Akielon royals following behind. ‘You are an idiot,’ he hissed in Laurent’s ear. ‘We both know you are no happier than he, so fix it.’

‘This is not my fault,’ Laurent hissed back. ‘He never wrote to me, either.’

‘He wrote to you _first_ ,’ Auguste stopped in the entrance hall of the palace and turned to the Akielons. ‘The head of my household guard, Jord, will show you upstairs,’ he said, as Jord stepped forward. ‘Please feel free to trouble him with any requests you may have.’

‘Many thanks,’ Theomedes said, following behind Jord as he led the way towards the stairs. Kastor was immediately behind him, Damen and Nikandros not long after.

It was around the third step that Damen looked back to Auguste and Laurent, just for a moment, and everything he hadn’t been able to say or show at the formal greeting was written across his face. He turned back and went with Nikandros, heads close together as they disappeared into the upper levels.

‘So?’ Auguste asked expectantly, once he was sure they were gone.

‘He looks good,’ Laurent said weakly.

Auguste sighed. ‘You are simply unbelievable.’

***

‘Thank you, Jord,’ Damen smiled, as he was shown to his chambers in the palace. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

‘And you, Exalted,’ Jord said with a bow. ‘Should you need anything, I am at your disposal.’

‘Thank you,’ Damen said again. Jord turned and began to head back the way he had led the Akielon party, before Damen stopped him, unable to contain his thoughts. ‘Jord?’

‘Yes?’

Damen pursed his lips. He couldn’t ask – yes, he could. He took a few steps after him, so he didn’t have to yell and have their conversation overheard. ‘How is he?’

‘Do you want the truth?’ Jord asked, unsurprised at this avenue of questioning.

‘I don’t know. I just need to know if he’s happy, if he’s… okay.’

‘Damen,’ Jord’s face softened. ‘Are _you_ okay?’

‘Not for a while.’

Jord nodded. ‘His curse is removed.’

‘Removed?’

‘Completely.’

‘I didn’t… No one told me.’

‘I know. Auguste will be in his chambers preparing for tonight.’

‘Why do I need to talk to Auguste?’ Damen asked, frowning.

‘He will tell you anything you want to know,’ Jord said. ‘Do you need directions?’

Damen shook his head. ‘I remember the way, thank you.’

Jord bowed again and headed off to answer a call of his name further up the corridor, leaving Damen to contemplate his next move. Clearly, there was something no one was telling him, or was _allowed_ to tell him, and Auguste would undoubtedly be the man to give him answers. Damen knew Laurent barely allowed himself to feel things, and if he did, he would surely discuss them with Auguste in order to process them.

Maybe.

Mind made, Damen set to making his way to Auguste’s chambers. They were not exactly far apart, with the royal chambers, both guest and home, being on the same floor. It gave Damen minimal time to consider what he would even ask, but his main thought was of Laurent.

A thought, apparently, made reality as Damen stopped to knock at Auguste’s door, hearing two voices on the other side of it.

That was – that was Laurent, his voice growing louder, and Damen had no time to move before he realised what this meant, and the door opened in front of him and he was _there_.

Laurent seemed just as shocked as Damen was, his eyes wide as they came face to face. His hair seemed a little shorter, more of it falling out and twisting gently to frame his face, but he was just as beautiful as he had been last Damen saw him.

He blinked, and his mouth parted a little as he took Damen in, eyes flicking up and down him as his fingers curled into the wood of Auguste’s door.

‘Laurent?’ Auguste asked. ‘What is it?’

‘Laurent,’ Damen breathed, and something between them broke. Or was fixed, the pieces replacing and rebuilding themselves into one complete, immovable thing, as Laurent surged forward, bringing their mouths together.

‘Damen,’ Laurent sighed against his lips, twisting his fingers in his hair, as Damen caught up with what was happening, and responded to the kiss, deepening it and cradling Laurent’s cheek with one hand, the other on his hip.

They broke apart after a moment, only for Laurent to wrap his arms around Damen and bury his face in his neck. ‘I –’

‘I know,’ Damen said, pushing his face into Laurent’s hair. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘You always did,’ Laurent mumbled, pressing his lips to whatever part of Damen he could reach – his throat, his jaw, his shoulder. ‘There will never be enough words I can speak to apologise.’

‘I understand,’ Damen murmured, tightening his arms around Laurent. They’d never embraced before, never _kissed_ like that before, and Damen was going to savour it. ‘I wish you had not waited as long as you did, but I understand.’

‘I don’t deserve you,’ Laurent whispered, pulling back, only just, and looking up to Damen. ‘I tried to – I ran to the gates, the day you left. I tried to call for you, but you were too far to hear me.’

‘I wrote you a letter.’

‘I didn’t read it for weeks, I didn’t think I could face your words, saying how much you despised me.’

‘I could never do such a thing,’ Damen said. ‘Not as long as I live will I ever hate you for a single thing you do.’

‘You’ve convinced me,’ Auguste said loudly, leaning against a table, arms crossed and smile on his face. ‘You have my permission to court my brother.’

‘I didn’t –’ Damen started.

‘Are you going to?’

‘I…’ Damen looked down to Laurent, who had hidden his face in the top of Damen’s chiton again. He cleared his throat and spoke. ‘Crown Prince, soon to be King, Auguste, may I have your permission to court your brother, the Prince Laurent?’

Auguste hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin. ‘What are your intentions towards him?’

‘To court him with the grace and courtesy he deserves,’ Damen replied. ‘To love him through my days, and to marry him.’

Laurent looked up, turning to his brother, just in time to catch Auguste’s nonchalant shrug.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I guess you can have my permission.’

‘No offence, Highness,’ Damen said, raising an eyebrow as he looked down to Laurent, nothing but love in his eyes, ‘but I was intending to do it, anyway.’

***

Nikandros was beginning to feel a little impatient. He knew it was customary for royalty to arrive last to feasts, but he hadn’t seen Damen since their arrival in Arles this morning. There were only so many places Damen could be, but he still hadn’t arrived, and both Auguste and Theomedes had already taken their seats.

Laurent, too, was conspicuously absent from their table.

Until, of course, he wasn’t.

The doors opened with what Nikandros would almost describe as unnecessary ceremony, verging on that afforded to the king, to reveal a particular blonde head of hair, which could only be Laurent.

He’d changed his clothing to a lighter sapphire from the dark navy of this morning, but still cut in the same, closely fitted and tightly laced style he favoured. The circlet, again, glittered around his head, hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders. He looked to the side, and even from the other end of the hall, Nikandros could see the smile that lit up his face.

Of course – of _course_ – that was when Damen appeared at the other side of the door, as resplendent as ever and looking not much different from this morning, except for the change of travelling clothes to court finery.

He made a quarter turn and held his hand out, a small smile on his face as he waited for something, and – _oh_.

As Laurent lightly placed his hand on Damen’s, and they began to walk in together, Nikandros knew exactly what this was.

This wasn’t the look of an innocent _we ran into each other in the corridor_ , this was _we’ve had words_ and _possibly more than words_.

Nikandros hid his smile as the pair of them came up the middle of the room, stepping onto the dais together and taking their position, filling the two waiting seats between Nikandros and Auguste.

‘Do we need to have any words?’ Nikandros asked, leaning slightly over into Damen’s space.

‘I have one word for you,’ Damen replied, popping a grape into his mouth with a grin. ‘Courting.’

‘Exactly the word I was expecting,’ Nikandros said, slapping him on the back. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you, my friend. Now we just need to find someone for you.’

‘I think I’ll have my hands full making sure you don’t disappear with him again.’

Damen shrugged, glancing back to Laurent, and for a moment, Nikandros saw exactly how Damen felt. His gaze on Laurent, even just the back of his head, was nothing other than fond and utterly content. He was happy, more so than he’d been in a long time, and Laurent was the cause of it, because maybe he was just being dramatic, and he did still love Damen.

Nikandros vaguely remembered saying something to Laurent before the left, something that didn’t have them part on a good note, and he was suddenly struck with the realisation that if he and Damen were to be _anything_ , then he should probably apologise to Laurent. He seemed like the sort of person to hold a grudge.

‘I think,’ Damen said, turning back to Nikandros, that same small smile on his face, ‘that would not be such a bad thing.’

‘What, for me to watch you like a hawk?’

‘No, for us to disappear for a little while.’

Nikandros hummed as he reached for his wine and took a sip. ‘The summer palace would be empty this time of year.’

‘I was thinking of staying in Vere for now. Laurent tells me Acquitart will have snow.’

‘And I’m sure the pair of you would _hate_ to be holed up alone somewhere.’

Damen laughed and shrugged. ‘I hear body heat is a good way to stay warm.’

‘Yes,’ Nikandros grinned, happy for his friend, truly. He seemed to have found love in the most unexpected of places. ‘I’m sure it is.’

***

It was past midnight by the time everyone left the hall. Damen and Laurent had been some of the last, happy to sit close together at the front table, heads close together as they spoke quietly – of what they had done while apart, of their thoughts, their feelings, an unspoken apology for everything they had or had not said behind every gentle touch of hands.

It was… unusual, being able to touch. Laurent seemed starved for it, and after so long not being able to have contact with other people, Damen wasn’t surprised. He didn’t mind, either. He was a rather tactile person, and being able to brush back Laurent’s hair, to select a morsel of food and hold it to him, fingers brushing his lips, thrilled Damen to his very core.

Laurent blushed easily from Damen’s easy, casual touches – to his knee, his wrist, the back of his hand – and he made it his mission to get as many of those beautiful blooms across Laurent’s skin as he could. The colour suited him. It meant he was pleased, and Damen was honoured to be the source of it.

‘It’s getting late,’ Laurent observed, his eyes barely drifting from Damen’s face as they leaned on the table to face each other. There were few left, only sleeping drunks and people deep in conversation remaining at their own tables.

‘I suppose it is,’ Damen replied, flicking his eyes to Laurent’s lips, not bothering to check if he was right.

‘It’s also a little cold, would you agree?’

‘I would.’

Laurent pursed his lips, blushing and looking down to where his bare fingers were twisting idly with Damen’s over their knees. ‘Would you care for a bath?’

‘I have not bathed since I arrived this morning, so I might,’ Damen tilted his head to catch Laurent’s eyes. ‘Will you be joining me?’

‘I did have it prepared for myself.’

‘So, is that a yes?’

‘Yes. If… you would like that.’

Damen stood quickly, his chair making a horrible scraping noise against the flagstones of the dais as he pushed it back roughly. ‘Yes. If you want.’

Laurent smiled and stood. ‘I suggested it for a reason.’

‘I expect you did,’ Damen said, unable to resist Laurent’s smile, and leaning forward to kiss him, just because he could.

Laurent hummed as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his spare hand around Damen’s neck, breaking away to peck his lips once, twice. ‘If we don’t move now, I’m going to do something up here my brother is _not_ going to like.’

‘Oh?’ Damen asked, his other arm around Laurent’s waist. ‘Like what?’

‘Like _you_ ,’ Laurent kissed him again, softening the blow of needing to extract himself from Damen’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I thought your brother liked me?’ Damen said, allowing himself to be pulled by Laurent off the dais and towards the doors of the hall.

‘He does, but he wouldn’t like you after… any of my plans.’

‘Plans?’

‘Plans.’

‘I do like the sound of that,’ Damen grinned, following Laurent as he wove through the corridors towards the private royal baths in silence. There were very few people still up and about, just the occasional guard or servant, but none gave them a second glance, except Jord, who seemed to be waiting for them outside the door of the baths.

‘Highness, Exalted,’ Jord bowed. ‘The baths have been prepared, as per your request.’

‘Thank you, Jord,’ Laurent said. ‘You may leave.’

Jord bowed again, a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth as he left.

‘You had the baths _guarded_?’ Damen teased, as Laurent pushed open the door and dragged him in. ‘What have you got in here, liquid gold?’

‘No,’ Laurent slid the lock in place and turned, his hands behind him resting against the door. ‘Just water. But I didn’t want anyone to get in here and steal it.’

‘I bet.’

Damen hadn’t been in this room before, at least, not while it was this late at night. The usually light windows were black with the night sky, candles across the tables, and torches lit on the walls. Someone had brought down fresh clothing for them, too, and Damen wondered exactly when Laurent had discussed this with someone.

‘I want to say something,’ Laurent blurted, drawing Damen’s attention back to him, where he hadn’t moved from the door. Suddenly, he looked small. Shy.

‘Anything,’ Damen said, staying where he was, in case any movement spooked Laurent. No matter what he’d had in mind when he’d created this plan, it could always have changed.

‘I’m just – I don’t expect anything from you, not right now, not tonight,’ Laurent said quickly. ‘I’ve never – and I, I do not want to get your hopes up, just in case.’

‘My hopes are not your concern,’ Damen shook his head. ‘We can go as slow as you need. I promise I will never rush you or force you into anything.’

Laurent nodded, his body going tense for the briefest of moments, before he seemed to come to a decision, and pulled his boots off, waiting for Damen to remove his sandals before he moved away from the door and came to stand in front of him. ‘Can I?’ he asked, glancing to the pins of Damen’s chiton.

‘Of course,’ Damen said, standing perfectly still as Laurent navigated them.

With a few swift pulls of the pins, Damen’s cape and chiton tumbled to the floor around his feet. Laurent raised an eyebrow as he ran his gaze over Damen’s perfectly sculpted body. ‘Really?’ he asked, the barest hint of amusement in his tone.

‘What?’ Damen smiled.

Laurent bit his lip, glancing up at Damen before he reached out and touched the unfamiliar golden bar in Damen’s previously unpierced nipple. ‘You have both, now.’

‘Someone once told me they would not be opposed to it,’ Damen said, swallowing hard as Laurent traced a single fingertip across it and over to the other one. ‘So?’

‘Definitely not opposed,’ Laurent murmured.

‘It’s a little cold in here. Do you mind..?’

Laurent looked down to the multitude of laces holding him in his own clothing. ‘If you think you can handle it,’ he said, holding out a wrist, almost like a challenge.

Damen’s smile turned into a grin, taking Laurent’s wrist and bringing his hand up, kissing his palm, before he began tugging the laces through their eyelets, quickly undoing one arm, then the other, pausing before he touched those at Laurent’s throat. ‘Is this okay?’ he asked, hands hovering as he waited for Laurent’s signal.

He nodded wordlessly, and Damen carefully reached for the top of the laces, fingers brushing Laurent’s neck, and sending shivers through him.

‘Tell me if it’s too much,’ Damen said, hands crossing the laces at Laurent’s collarbones.

‘This is fine,’ Laurent said. ‘I’m just…’

‘Not used to it?’

‘No, not exactly.’

Damen kept at the laces, until he was at the bottom and pulling the laces through the final eyelets. He looked up for permission, before he slipped his hands under Laurent’s jacket and over his shirt to push it off his shoulders. He turned and put it down on a bench, not wanting it to get crumpled at all.

When he turned back, Laurent had slipped his pants off and flung them into a corner, apparently not as concerned about wrinkles, and was standing in just his shirt, a small smile on his face.

Damen paused, taking in the sight of Laurent, so beautiful and trusting, and willing to give everything to him. He removed the laurel crown from his head before he approached Laurent, ignoring his shirt in favour of taking the circlet gently from his hair, and running his fingers through the soft, golden strands.

Laurent made a small, pleased noise, his eyes shut as he leaned into Damen’s hand. ‘This is nice,’ he mumbled, ‘but I do not want to be having a cold bath.’

Damen laughed and removed his hand, trailing his fingers down the side of Laurent’s face, his neck, into the open collar of his shirt, pulling the laces apart and moving the fabric off Laurent’s shoulders, falling to the floor. He could’ve spent an eternity just looking at Laurent, relearning the little details of his body, after thinking for those months at Marlas that he would never see them again – but as Laurent had said, he didn’t want the bath to go cold.

‘Shall we?’ he asked, looking pointedly at the bottles of soaps lined up and ready for them.

‘You can pick,’ Laurent said, stepping into the bath. ‘But you know my preference.’

Damen smiled as he picked out the purple soap with ease, pouring a little into the water, before he replaced the stopper and stepped in, sinking down beside Laurent. ‘I do not know what you were worried about,’ Damen said casually. ‘This water is fine.’

Laurent looked over, studying Damen for a moment, before he scooted closer to Damen, barely a hand’s width between them. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, sinking himself into the water up to his chin. ‘For what I did.’

‘I know,’ Damen said. ‘You don’t need to apologise. I gave you my permission, and you got me back. I never had anything but complete faith in you, Laurent.’

‘I did. I thought you would be like that forever. I thought even if I did bring you back, that you would want nothing to do with me.’

‘We’ve been over this –’

‘We have, but I need to just say it this one last time. I wouldn’t have blamed you for changing your mind, I wouldn’t have tried to… make you uphold anything you said before that happened. Circumstances change, and I –’

‘Laurent,’ Damen interrupted gently, sliding a hand under Laurent’s back and turning him so they were facing. ‘I’m with you, okay? I’m in this.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’ve never been anything but.’

Laurent looked down to his hand in the water, watching as he moved it through onto Damen’s chest, over where he could feel the beating of his heart. ‘I’m sorry it took me so long to get us here.’

‘It does not matter,’ Damen placed his other hand over Laurent’s, using the one still around his back to pull him closer. ‘What matters is we have each other now, yes?’

‘Yes,’ Laurent pressed his lips to Damen’s shoulder, sliding his hand up and behind Damen to the rim of the bath, using it as leverage to pull himself into Damen’s lap, straddling his thighs and shuddering at the sheer amount of skin contact. ‘Damen, I –’

Damen gently placed his hands on Laurent’s hips to steady him, rubbing his thumbs softly into the skin as he settled back, spreading his legs a little and giving Laurent more room. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m… I’ll get used to it,’ Laurent said, threading the fingers of one hand into Damen’s hair, the other placed lightly on his bicep.

It was strange. From where he and Damen had started, their relationship strained at best, he would never have thought they would end up here, with Damen being the only person Laurent knew he would ever want like _this_.

Laurent knew there must be something of his thoughts coming through in his expression, because Damen leaned up, taking one hand and pulling him down to meet his mouth and kissing him. Soft, at first, sweet, until Laurent gasped for air, and Damen moved, mouthing at the place behind his ear, and peppering tiny pecks along his throat and shoulder.

‘Damen,’ Laurent sighed, as he dragged his fingers down to Damen’s neck, adjusting his position slightly and inhaling sharply as their skin met, almost every inch pressed close together.

Damen groaned quietly into Laurent’s shoulder, fingers tensing on his hips, as blood rushed between his legs. ‘We – I shouldn’t…’

‘Shouldn’t what?’

‘Do… this,’ Damen said, shifting a little, watching how Laurent’s eyes widened at the feel of a half-hard cock against his ass.

Laurent was still for a moment, biting his lip and grinding down on it experimentally, grinning when he drew a breathy moan from Damen. ‘Are you saying you don’t want to?’

‘I definitely do,’ Damen shook his head. ‘But I don’t think now is the… best time.’

Laurent sighed and tipped his head against Damen’s shoulder. ‘Fine,’ he said, sliding off and back beside Damen, tucking himself under his arm instead. ‘Is this better?’

‘No, but I’ll get used to it.’

***

The coronation, a few days after the Akielons arrived in Arles, was a slightly longer and much more tedious affair than Laurent had been expecting. There had been a private rehearsal with just Auguste and the ministers, but nothing of it had been spoken between the brothers, and Laurent was struggling to stay awake through all the speeches and vows. If not for Damen beside him, poking fun at the oversized and ostentatious hats several people were wearing, then Laurent may indeed have fallen asleep.

After what felt like much longer than the two hours it had been, Auguste finally entered the throne room. He looked magnificent in robes of black, pearls and gems glittering across his chest and sewn into his clothing, his hair and skin strikingly bright against the dark fabric.

As he knelt at the front of the room before his council, the cape of his clothing spread to show the intricacies of the starburst pattern decorating it, Laurent sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth to keep from crying.

It was stupid, he knew. His brother had been born for this, and with his ascension in place of Laurent’s, he was free to marry Damen. It was not that he was mourning for a throne he would not have, and never wanted in the first place, but that he never thought he would see _this_ happen.

Not only a Veretian coronation, but his _brother_ being the one crowned. He’d once been gold and trapped in this castle, an unwilling onlooker of their uncle’s regime, but Laurent had fixed it. He’d given Auguste back his life, his freedom, and in doing so he’d also created his own.

He would always have his ties to Vere, but he was no longer tied _to_ it. Acquitart would always be his, a private haven away from the stresses of life, but now he also had his home back, and in Damen, he had a new home.

Because that was what it came down to, wasn’t it?

Damen was his home, now. It might take him a long time to get over his issues with what he’d done, to outgrow and overcome the nightmares that still plagued him, but now when he woke up, he would not be alone. He would have Damen beside him, to hold his hands, to soothe his breathing and calm his mind.

Damen had been there with him through arguably one of the most tumultuous parts of his life, and he would continue to be. They could build a life, and they could improve those of others. They would be unbreakable.

As Auguste accepted the sceptre in one hand and the orb in the other, Laurent was so, unbearably proud of him. Everything that he’d been through, everything that no doubt he still struggled with, the sacrifices he’d made – and they’d still ended up here. He was not simply some prince who had inherited the throne. He’d fought for it, he and Laurent together had.

It may have been Laurent that forged the alliances to gain footing in reclaiming the throne, and it may have been Laurent that delivered the blow to sever the Regent’s hold on Vere, but Auguste was what had kept him going and alive until Damen had come crashing into his life.

As the crown, golden and glorious, was placed atop Auguste’s head, Laurent reached for Damen’s hand, finding it ready and accepting.

When the budding tear in Laurent’s eye finally fell, it was Damen that wiped it softly away, and he knew, turning to him and accepting the gentle kiss, that everything up to this moment had been worth it.

Laurent had his brother back. He had Damen, more of a presence in his life than he ever would have expected. He had grown in so many ways. He was stronger, he was happier, he was okay, and most of all, he loved and was loved in return.

And that, Laurent thought, seeing the sentiment echoed in Damen’s eyes, was more than enough for him.

***

Each of us like you  
has died once,  
has passed through drift of wood-leaves,  
cracked and bent  
and tortured and unbent  
in the winter-frost,  
the burnt into gold points,  
lighted afresh,  
crisp amber, scales of gold-leaf,  
gold turned and re-welded  
in the sun;

each of us like you  
has died once,  
each of us has crossed an old wood-path  
and found the winter-leaves  
so golden in the sun-fire  
that even the live wood-flowers  
were dark.

 

Not the gold on the temple-front  
where you stand  
is as gold as this,  
not the gold that fastens your sandals,  
nor thee gold reft  
through your chiselled locks,  
is as gold as this last year's leaf,  
not all the gold hammered and wrought  
and beaten  
on your lover's face.  
brow and bare breast  
is as golden as this:

each of us like you  
has died once,  
each of us like you  
stands apart, like you  
fit to be worshipped.

– _Adonis,_ Hilda Doolittle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that's it! i apologise for the emotional trauma, which i hear is a Thing? sorry friends love u all. there's a [masterpost](http://damiaanos.tumblr.com/post/180462910583/aristeia-a-masterpost-written-for-the-captive) on tumblr with all the art links and a bonus playlist in case u wanna Feel some more things!
> 
> thank you all for reading and all the love? u can catch me on [tumblr](http://damiaanos.tumblr.com) if u wanna see what else i'm up to! :))
> 
> ~~also yes i know that's not what _adonis_ is about, but the last stanzas fit on a superficial level ok fite me~~


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